The Seventh Stone
by xNYSx
Summary: Lara Mercer is an ordinary human, with a sprinkle of sass. One night, a mysterious voice catapults her to Asgard, to meet some intolerable 'Loki' character with a god complex - plainly stating how he feels that a Midgardian ape heard the voice of a seventh infinity stone. A deal's a deal, but nerves don't settle when the only person you can trust is the power-hungry God of Lies.
1. Chapter 1: Fabrics of Space and Sleep

Never a boring night when you're surrounded by a bunch of rich, drunk people.

But at the end of the day, we've got to do what we've got to do. Since graduating art school with honors a little over two years ago, my career skyrocketed. I moved away from a crumbling, bombed-and-ruined New York to Los Angeles, and made my way into a new life—with connections, connections, and more connections...

It's great, but it also sucks. Sucks to have left New York behind. Sucks to have had my university burned to a crisp. Sucks to have needed to start over, all because the flashes of burning buildings and explosions didn't abate. Nor did the blood-curdling fear of being unable to escape the nuke being shot toward the middle of the city...

Life has its vices, I suppose. It doesn't matter where you go. Having moved past stitching up my mental health, the next stage was reconstructing the rest of my life.

And knowing how to charm people—it's arguably more important than being a prodigy. After all, how many prodigies go on to become a household name? At the end of the day, talent can be cultivated—but a helping of schmooze and human interaction is what gets you ahead.

That's why I fade to the background at these art showcasing events. Local universities have them every couple of months, and they're great for portfolio exchanges and collaborations—but my facial muscles start aching after hours of pretending that I'm _not_ thinking about going home and plopping in front of the TV.

Smiles and smalltalk take the foreground of my everyday business. I can't cuss out an annoyingly snobby patron, because he might hire me for a project. Can't sprinkle sarcasm into my morning cheerios, because I might develop a reputation. It's all carefully calculated, carefully strategized... And the slyness makes me feel dirty sometimes.

Tonight was a huge success, having sold a number paintings at a local exhibition—as successful as an artist can get, anyway. It's never terribly exciting, just a bit of mule here and there.

No one ever giddies over my artwork or cries at it the way I do, when I'm working at the university's studio. And if I had someone waiting for me at home every night, they would probably never tell the difference between a successful night and a bust.

Despite the night's success, the energy doesn't pass with me over the threshold into my apartment. After the tirade of small talk and smiles, I flip on the lights and trudge about my apartment, going through the motions—shoes thrown off in separate directions, purse on the dinner table, big-girl clothes on the desk chair...and finally, stage four: remove uppermost layers of makeup, and hop off to sleep.

The sight of my bed is a cornucopia of pillows, blankets and sweet, sweet relief—just like usual.

Having the utmost negligence to basic skin care, I toss the used makeup wipe on my nightstand before flipping off the lights, and crawl into the soft sheets with a heavy sigh. With the quiet, tranquil darkness muting the noises of the day, it doesn't take long for me to start drifting off to sleep. The last thing I see are the glowing digits on the alarm clock sitting on my nightstand—12:05 AM.

Every muscle in my body relaxes as my head weighs heavy into the pillow. The day starts slipping away, bit by bit, but I couldn't tell how long I've been asleep before I suddenly feel my fingers twitch—a telltale sign that something's waking me up. If it were a person, I'd smack them—thanks to my painful single hood, it's more likely a bug. And I'm about to have a heart attack.

Bits of consciousness start returning to me, and a faint buzzing sound starts to rise in my ear...which obviously shouldn't be there, but maybe it's a dream? I protest my return to consciousness as I roll onto my side annoyedly—leaving only a quarter of my face exposed to the air.

A faint echo sends a chill running down my neck and arms, and I furrow my brow against the pillow. With one deep breath, I taste the brisk, conditioned air in my room, and blow past the point of no return—I'm awake.

I sigh frustratedly and squeeze my eyes tightly before they flutter open. The lamp and alarm clock slowly sharpen as I return to my wakened state, and see that three hours have passed—it's 3:27 AM. I peer at them from under my heavy eyelids, and it takes me a moment to realize that there's some kind of light pouring over them, causing them to cast a shadow on the wall. Strange—even if I'd left a light on, my lamps have more a yellow tint than a white one. I knit my brows together suspiciously, and turn over slowly to find the source.

At the sight of some alien object on the ceiling, I flip over sharply. Sheets fly off my body from the sudden movement, and my breathing freezes as my eyes dart from corner to corner—at flurries of white light flowing individually toward the center of the room. And there, just a few feet above my head, is where they meet.

I squint my eyes, trying to see the object through the minor shadow of my eyelashes. Whatever it is, it's too bright to look directly at it, but I can vaguely make out the shape of something small and round suspended in the air.

I flinch at the deep, dulcet voice that suddenly vibrates throughout my room. "Return to the edge of creation, and behold the seventh infinity stone."

The voice trails off to a steady whisper as I stare at it with widened eyes—perplexed. After a moment of deafening silence, I shift uncomfortably on my bed, daunted by the incessant feeling that I'm supposed to say something, but… well, I can hardly muster a sound over the feeling of my heart pounding against my throat, much less put together a thoughtful, coherent response to this situation.

I blink several times before some of the shock dissipates, and a semblance of rational thinking seeps back into my mind. Once some of the background noise is gone, the only thought still circling in my mind is that this has to be a dream. There's nothing else it could be, so maybe, if I go to sleep, everything will be fine in the morning. That's what's likely—and I might not even remember this dream at all.

I exhale sharply, and lower my eyes to the floor with a steady breath. Hell, I can taste the conditioned air in my apartment, feel the chill of it against my skin—and if that wasn't enough, this brightness is bothering my eyes. There's nothing about this that feels like sleep, but… it has to be.

Finally, I nod reassuringly—for myself more than anything—and actively force myself to look away from the object, while laying back down onto the bed. At this point, it still takes an effort to keep my eyes shut for several moments, and it doesn't help that I can still see the ambient light through my eyelids.

Less than a heartbeat later, goosebumps erupt all over my body as a brisk, forceful wind suddenly picks up all around me. And just as the impulse hits me to open my eyes, some alien pressure bears down on my body from all sides—intensely enough to force the air out of my lungs, and prevent me from moving. It appears and disappears in a quick flash, and my eyes shoot open with a heavy gasp for air, while my hand clamps on the ground in a quick impulse.

And I don't know what shocks me more—the abruptness of an indoor tornado, the sudden paralysis, or the fact that my bed is gone. My popcorn ceiling with it, along with my plain, sliding closet doors, and cute little night stand.

I'm still here, though—laying on a cold, hard floor, and staring up at a golden triquetra painted on the tall, domed roof above me. I blink in confusion as my gasps turn into softer breaths, and I lift myself slowly, with every single one of my senses quaking with alertness.

The giant pillars are the first thing I see, lining the length of an enormous hall to my left. Beyond them is a pitch black sky, peppered with stars that are bright enough to be seen from this far into the building. From there, my eyes dart from corner to corner as I slowly lift myself onto my feet.

Everything around me is still as I take two steps forward, back, and side to side, looking in every direction—as if answers might pop out from one of the dark corners around me. Finally, I turn in place to see a throne behind me, embellished with jewels and golden carvings. It's beautiful enough to raise genuine shock and awe amidst my anxiety, and is nestled at the base of a large golden crescent, with two lion heads on either side of the arm rests.

I glance behind me before ascending the stairs slowly, hearing only the faint popping sounds of the flames and my bare feet sliding against the steps. The angular dimensions of the throne become more visible as I grow closer, and… up close, it looks the most inordinately uncomfortable thing to sit on.

"Excuse me," says a deep voice behind me, making me jump, and turn sharply in the process.

A tall figure strides out from behind one of the columns, with one hand tucked behind his back, and the other holding a book. His boots scrape across the ground as he steps closer, scanning the length of me suspiciously, and his footsteps echo against the pillars.

I'd like to think I'm looking back at him with equal suspicion—not just by virtue of the situation as a whole, but rather, at his weird, norse-looking outfit. The dark green robe hangs all the way to his ankles, and is open at the front. It's sleeveless too, revealing a leather tunic of a lighter shade underneath, and is clipped across the front of his torso by a golden buckle.

"Who are you?" he asks in a low voice.

I shift uncomfortably, and the sound of my feet sliding nervously against the stone floor is the only sound between us for a moment.

"My name is... Lara," I mumble—feeling self-conscious by the sudden, keen awareness of my light pajama shorts and braless tank top.

"Lara," he repeats my name inquisitively, with his accented voice. Suddenly he shuts the book with a quick snap, and cocks his head to the side as he peers up at me. "I'm Loki, Prince of Asgard."

I give a subtle nod, trying to hide the nervousness in my expression.

"Nice to meet you," I say quietly, practically whispering.

Loki stares back at me without returning the gesture. "Where are you from? And what are you doing here?"

"I, uh…" I struggle to control my uneven breathing as I fumble with my fingers, looking left and right for signs of anyone else. "I live in Los Angeles."

He blinks in surprise, "You're from Earth? How did you get here?"

I stare at him for a moment.

"You... You say that like this isn't… Earth."

"No—this is Asgard," Loki eyes me suspiciously, before raising a brow and nodding in my direction. "And most people aren't allowed to tread so close to the throne."

"Oh—I'm sorry," I say, glancing behind me at the slabs of gold—in the light of the torches, they gleam so beautifully. They're beautiful enough to… paint.

My eyes widen with a sudden realization.

"Wait," I exhale sharply, whispering to myself. "This isn't real, isn't it?"

I don't know why it didn't occur to me immediately. So many of my paintings are based off gorgeous landscapes or other imagery that I experience when I'm asleep—it's practically my signature quality, and why my paintings sell so well. My technique is just as good as any other formally trained artist—it's my vision that sells. And this is probably some kind of freakishly lucid dream.

Loki furrows his brows, "What?"

I look back at him—scanning the angular features of his face while he stares back at me, lips slightly parted.

With a subtle nod, I inhale resolutely and lower myself down at the foot of the throne, nestling onto my left side, with one leg crossed over the other for balance. My long, light brown curls circle into a soft, heavy pile on top of my elbow, and I close my eyes with a deep breath, resting my head on it.

A moment of deafening silence goes by, maybe two, before I open them again—and see that nothing's changed. I push off the floor slowly, and prop myself up in a half-seated position. White-hot nervousness seeps into my chest.

"Well, that usually works…" I say, with tension gripping my throat

"I suppose I'll ask again," Loki continues, as I lift myself up and descend the steps slowly. "How did you get here?"

I hold his gaze until I reach the bottom step, and turn to face him. Blue, emotionless eyes stare back down at me, bearing a sharp contrast against the black, wavy hair grown past his ears. I open my mouth to speak, then close it again. I'm still trying to piece it all together myself, explaining it to someone else feels… infeasible.

I take a breath. "Well, I'm… I'm not entirely—"

Loki blinks as my eyes suddenly widen. My backside stiffens, and goosebumps flare up on my arms as a deep, rumbling sound vibrates in my ears.

"Lara."

I step back from him, recoiling from the sound. Loki's eyes narrow—though he appears unfazed, if not mildly captivated. My eyes snap to the tall, domed ceiling as the voice reverberates off it.

"Can you hear that?" I breathe out, lowering my gaze to him.

"Hear what?"

"That voice," I say with a shallow, nervous breath. "You didn't hear that?"

The look on his face says it all—he has no idea what I'm talking about.

"I… I heard it just before I woke up here."

"You woke up here?" Loki's brow rises. "So, the Bifrost didn't bring you here?"

"I don't know what a Bifrost is," I say earnestly. "But I was asleep, and then there was something in my room, and it was glowing… Then there was this voice, telling me it was the seventh infinity stone."

Loki cocks his head to the side as his tense expression shifts to knowingness, and a glimmer of thought passes through his eyes.

"The seventh infinity stone?" he says in a low voice, tucking both arms behind his back. "How interesting."

A quiet echo reverberates through the hall. I pause, looking up at the ceiling slowly, and Loki follows my eyes up to it as well. I turn, trailing the sound from corner to corner, until my eyes lower back down to the ground, and land on a small archway that was directly behind me.

A faint, residual whisper of the voice breezes through it. Something tightens in my chest, like a subtle pull that coaxes the breath straight out of my lungs.

"It's there," I breathe out, and walk toward it.

"What's there?" Loki asks, his voice dripping with suspicion and curiosity.

"The voice—it's coming from here," I say as I pass through the archway, glancing side to side in a trance-like state.

A long, dark stairway descends into pitch blackness on the left. Loki appears beside me, following my line of sight down the stairs as I peer down them nervously.

"Where does this lead?" I ask, turning toward him.

"Odin's vault," he says solemnly, and the deep notes of his voice resonate in the air around us.

"Can I go down there?"

Loki glances thoughtfully about my face for a moment as deep consideration reels across his expression. The edges of his eyes glisten in the light of the torches propped against the walls, and with a quick flinch in his brow, he finally nods. "Fine. But only if I come with you."

I nod briskly in acknowledgment, before turning and taking off down the steps.

A slight breeze picks up against my skin as we descend. Across a small stretch of hallway at the bottom, a ray of light shines through a rectangular doorway. I approach it slowly, steeping out into the pale glow with Loki just behind me, and find myself standing on a large, suspended walkway in the middle of sheer blackness. The only thing in this enormous room is the vault, which is directly in front of us.

I stride carefully over the wide path, toward the doorway leading into the vault. I'm not anywhere near the edges of the walkway, but the idea of slipping and falling into blackness is still daunting. The door itself about twice my height, and I heave against the heavy wood until it opens—revealing another flight of stairs that lead to a lower level.

I glance back at Loki, giving him one last chance at disapproval before going inside. Something inside me sighs with disappointment at the blank expression on his face—I guess there's no turning back now.

A pale, orange glow flickers against the dark walls around us, and glimmers against the large, golden doorway stretching up above our heads. I glance at it before turning right, and descending further into the bottom-most level of the room.

Loki stops on the bottom stair as I continue on, listening and looking for signs of the voice. Slanted columns run up and down the walls on either side of me, and their reflection in the glossy floor gives the room a rather large appearance. Stone pedestals are erected in the spaces between them, with strange-looking relics resting atop them.

Among these are a gauntlet, a tablet, and a pensive of glowing flames. My eyes pass over them one by one as I walk by, until the blue, subtle glow of another relic catches my attention from the far end of the room. With Loki's eyes still on me, I turn toward and walk toward it slowly, making out the shape of a small, glimmering cube. Faint, indiscernible voices wisp around the object as I get closer, while a calm, hypnotizing feeling settles in my chest, drawing me in—

"I wouldn't do that," Loki's voice shatters the tenuous illusion.

Apparently I'd begun reaching for the object without even realizing it. I lower my hand immediately, taking a step back as Loki approaches me. I turn and look up at him—his expression is completely unreadable. I'd venture to guess there's some hint of curiosity, but I'm far from certain of that.

"Tell me," he says calmly. "What were you hoping to find down here?"

I shake my head, still peering at him, "I don't know, I was just following the voice."

"And did it lead you to that?" Loki glances at the small cube.

"What is it?" I ask, turning toward it.

"The tesseract—a vessel of great power."

I can practically feel the object's blue tint illuminating my eyes, and a subtle vibration rises in my abdomen as the indiscernible whispers return. My head starts spinning as they grow louder, and the blue light starts to throb.

"What's going on?" Loki's eyes dart between me and the tesseract. I stagger back, swaying back and forth as the room begins to spin. Loki reaches out to grab my arm—and passes straight through it.

His face twists with confusion. Seconds later, a quick pulse through the air forces him a few steps back. Without a spare moment to flex my legs, I drop to the ground as it subsides.

The briskness of the air suddenly sweeps against my exposed skin, and I shudder—as though feeling it for the first time. I look up at Loki, and he raises both hands cautiously as he steps toward me, eyeing me as I shift unsteadily against the icy ground.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

I look up at him from the ground, trying to steady myself as the spinning room normalizes.

"I think so," I say, feeling slightly nauseated. "What happened?"

"You disappeared—and the tesseract," he glances at the cube. "Its power enveloped you for a moment."

I glance down at my hand, and raise it up slowly in front of me. Nothing looks different, but.. damn, it's cold as hell in here.

"Come," he says, extending a hand down to me.

I look up at him for a moment, at the purposeful look in his eyes, and I realize he's thinking the same thing I am. I can tell, just by the way his eyes narrow as I reach up slowly—and take his hand.

Heat emanates from his skin as I grip it tightly, and we both pause—waiting for something to happen. Hot terror and nervousness spreads through my chest, as I glance between him and our intertwined hands. Meanwhile, Loki stares straight at my hand before slowing making his way up my arm, until he meets my eyes. When nothing happens after a few moments, his lips thin into a straight line, and his expression grows tight with reproach. With a quick, effortless tug, he pulls me onto my feet.

"Well, it appears you've materialized fully," he says wearily, stepping back from me.

I take a breath and nod, rubbing a cold hand against the shoulder that isn't covered by my hair. "There were voices coming from that cube," I turn and gesture to it. "Is that… it?"

"No," he says. "The tesseract is a containment vessel for the space stone."

"And what is that?"

"One of the infinity stones," he says with a heavy sigh. "Relics of great power, of which there are only known to be six: space, power, reality, mind, time, and the soul stone."

I pause, "No seventh stone?"

He shakes his head slowly, and directs the next thoughtful gaze toward the tesseract. "No seventh stone—perhaps, until now."

Silence hardens around us as Loki peers at it for a moment. He's staring at it, while I'm staring at him—and I can't tell which of us is more engaged. I can practically see the thoughts passing through his mind, though I can't quite make them out entirely. Finally, he blinks, and his eyes roll back up to me while the rest of his body remains motionless. Suddenly, the darkness around us grows colder, and a shiver rolls down my neck at the subtle, inexplicable desire now hovering in his expression.

"I just want to go home," I say in a low voice. "I don't want the stone, or anything else…"

"You don't have to keep it," he says with a slow, terrible softness.

I tear my eyes away from him and step back, bumping into the pedestal still holding the tesseract. I hear it slide a little against the glossy surface, and with an impulse driven more by anxiety than rationality, I turn and grab it.

The moment my skin touches the hot glass, webs of stinging light shoot up my arm, and spread to the rest of my body.

"Shit," I hear Loki hiss as my stomach suddenly rises, like I'm being thrown through the air.

All I can see and feel for several moments is a bright blue light buzzing against my skin—and a sudden grasp around my arm. With the abrupt tug of some invisible force, the pressure disappears from my arm, and I roll over several feet on the ground—landing face-down in dirt. With a heavy thump, something heavy rolls over next to me, forcing my cheek into the rough grain. Dirt lodges under my nails as I scrape my fingers together into fists, and prop myself up onto my elbows, pushing the heaviness off before turning to look at it.

Loki. He landed facing up instead of down—probably because I stopped him from rolling over. He lowers his hands from his face slowly as pieces of dirt fall trickles off the side of his hair, and I watch as he scans the sky in a quick reflex, then turns and meets my eyes with an equal amount of shock.

Grains of sand sift against my skin as I move away from him immediately, and glance in the other direction. Indeed, a thin layer of black sand surrounds us on all sides. As far as I can tell, it goes on for miles, and snakes between sharp-looking bodies of rock that scatter throughout the fields. I follow the sand and rocks until my eyes land on a range of pitch-black walls stretch up into the sky—where one particularly tall mountain peak towers high above the rest.

Behind me, the sound of hands patting leather reels me back to 'Situation: Loki.' Under different circumstances, I might find the obstinate scowl on his face amusing, but I'm cooking one up under the surface myself.

"What the hell just happened!?" I exclaim, brushing the sand off my own sticky, sweaty skin. "Where are we!?"

"The tesseract," Loki growls as he brushes his black waves out of his face, and shakes the sand out of them. "Brought us here."

"Yeah I got that, but where are we!?"

"I don't know!" he says annoyedly. "Why don't you tell me that!?"

I scoff, throwing my hands up on either side. "At what point have I looked like I know what's going on!?"

I tear my eyes away from him for a moment, and turn in place to look around at the scenery. The black peaks are behind me now, and in this direction, there are trees—massive trees—whose roots stretch across the land far off. Even from a distance, I can tell that their sheer enormity is supremely... unnatural.

A sudden screech interrupts my observance. Loki and I turn abruptly, looking side to side for the source of a noise. A pair of wings suddenly expand atop a nearby rock—half feathered, half metal. The winged creature bursts into the air with an incredible speed, and lands with a skid on the ground behind us. [to be continued]


	2. Chapter 2: Red Eye Whirring

Three-pronged claws pierce earth as the creature turns toward us, with its wings fully extended, and hovering low to the ground. Tufts of light brown fur brush against the edges of metal scales that ripple with every movement, and the scales cover nearly half the creature's body and head—save for two, long horns protruding from its forehead, and curling toward its backside.

Icy terror steeps within my limbs as a red, metallic eye whirs back and forth between us, and the creature lowers its head menacingly as it stalks toward us. Meanwhile, Loki jerks his left hand out beside me, while a sharp, gleaming dagger instantly materializes in it. The creature immediately snaps toward the movement, and bucks its head forward with a blood-curdling screech.

With a quick, calculative glance at the creature's wings, Loki takes off toward it, kicking up dust with every step. The creature turns as he gets close, and its right wing slices through the air—sending a ring of forceful wind out into the space. Loki leaps over the wing effortlessly, turning mid-air, while the air that burst forth from it hits me like a wall, and sends me tumbling back against the ground.

With a swift landing just beside the creature's body, Loki grabs hold of the creature's shoulder bone and and hauls himself onto its back—while I haul myself back onto my feet.

My arms swing about me clumsily as I rise to my feet and stumble backward, wincing as the rough surface of a rock clashes sharply against my spine—the prelude to what I'm sure will be a big, beautiful bruise.

I straighten up against the rock as my attention jumps back to the creature thrashing violently, with Loki on its back, bucking its head in an effort to impale him. With one sharp movement, he grabs the creature's left horn and lunges toward its neck, using the the momentum to drives the dagger deep into the creature's skull. I cringe as the beast whines painfully for a moment, and slowly drops to the ground with a heavy thump.

Still pressing against the rock, my chest heaves as I stare intently at the metal eye, and watch its bright red glow fade with lifelessness. Meanwhile, Loki's eyes dart about the corpse briskly—searching for signs of movement—until finally, his lips thin relaxedly, and he slowly draws the bloodied dagger from the creature's skull.

A nervous gasp escapes my throat as it flinches one last time, and I prop a shaking hand onto the rock to steady my quaking limbs. Loki drops to the ground with a thud as I sink to my knees, and place a hand over my tightening chest. His footsteps are heavy against the loose soil, and… shit, I'm struggling to control my breath.

Shit, shit… The racing heartbeat, the hyperventilation… I know what's happening—and now's just about the worst time for it to crop back up, after years of control and management.

My breathing grows more labored by the minute, while thoughts and images spin inside my head, and spiral into a buzzing little ball of tension inside my breathless chest.  
I start looking around for something I can touch, something I can smell, something I can taste… But the thoughts don't focus. I can't bring to mind the sensations, and every surface I look at—the dirt, the rocks, even Loki's leather boots—they're all just meaningless surfaces that do nothing to stop what's coming.

Loki's steps slide to a stop in the sand next to me, and at this point, my hands are getting too weak to grasp the rock firmly.

"Oh, dear… Please don't tell me you're going to faint." Loki's wry voice trails off into the distance, and my vision begins to fade.

The rough edges of the rock slide against my palm as my knees finally collapse from underneath me, and the last thing I hear is an exasperated groan, before sinking down to my side and fading out of consciousness. 

* * *

I'm falling. I can't tell where I am or where I fell from, but I know I'm moving through the darkness all around me. I hear something too, something coming up behind me, and I turn my head slowly in its direction. I hardly have a moment to react before a pair of red, whirring eyes come flying toward me. Claws rip into my flesh as I scream, and—

"N—," I inhale sharply as my eyes bolt open.

My skin tickles from a bead of sweat running down my hairline, cooling my face amidst the chilly breeze passing over me as I lay motionless—peering at the starry sky that's opened up before me. I blink a few times, feeling my body temperature rise as my senses slowly waken. A dim light flickers to my left, and my hair sifts between the grains of sand as I turn over onto my side, curled along the edge of a small fire pit.

With a flash of gleaming light, I look up into the translucent tips of the flames, where a pair of pale, blue eyes peer back at me amusedly.

"Welcome back," Loki says wryly, flipping his clean dagger in the air.

I furrow a brow as I glance around the little camp, trying to piece it all together as I prop my elbows against the dirt, and lift myself up. A cold, evening breeze brushes against the top of my neck, and it suddenly occurs to me that my neck is now the only area of skin still exposed to the elements.

I roll my eyes downward slowly, to see my long, light curls tumbling over a suit of dark green leather that leaves nothing revealed—save for the small notch at the top of my neck.

I turn back to Loki. "What is this?" I say hoarsely, pinching the cape draped over my curves.

He shakes his head slightly. "It's the only reason you've survived the cold—think of it as a gift," he says in a soft, sarcastic tone. "I worked very hard on it while you were indisposed."

My face sinks into a stoney glare. "What does that mean?" I mumble quietly.

"It means…" he sighs, leaning forward as he waves a hand in the air. A sudden flurry of threads and fabrics brush against my arm, and I blink surprisedly as a portion of the suit covering my right arm fades, and re-appears again. "I made it."

I turn back to him with lips slightly parted, staring for a moment before nodding slightly.

"Okay," I murmur. "Thank you..."

"Nothing to thank me for," he says matter-of-factly, leaning back against the rock with legs extended, and one ankle resting atop the other. "I've simply decided that I need you alive."

I peer at him intently for a moment, as a large curl falls over my face in the breeze.

"Let me guess," I mutter in a low voice. "To find the stone?"

Loki's brow rises slightly as he stares back—like he's feigning approval for my suggested cooperation, and mocking it at the same time.

"Well fine," I say earnestly. "You can have it—I just want to go home. Get me out of here, and... Hell, I'll throw in a bow on top."

The corners of his mouth twist downward as he lifts both hands up in a contented gesture, with the gleaming dagger in his right hand—intentionally placed, I'm sure. "Excellent," he says, tilting his head back. "Then we have an accord—quicker than I thought it'd come."

I shrug. "Were you expecting a lot of pushback?"

His grin stretches further with a light chuckle. "You really don't know who I am, do you?" he says in a low voice, glancing at me with a raised brow.

I narrow my brows suspiciously. "No?" I say in a low voice. "Other than what you told me—is there more to it?"

Loki eyes me for a moment, and his lips thin thoughtfully into a straight line. "Hm," he pauses for a moment, and a quick decision flashes across his expression as he looks away with a wry grin. "Midgardian apes—never fail to entertain."

I cock my head to the side - positive I've just been insulted, but not quite sure I understood the nature of the insult. "Keep talking," I say, rolling my eyes sarcastically to the ground. "I'm liking you more and more by the minute."

In the corner of my eye, I see Loki look down at me. "Is that any way to address your superiors?" he asks wryly.

My brows shoot up sharply as I stare down at the ground, before trailing my eyes back up to him with an amused grin. "Yeah," I say slowly, shaking my head. "I don't care who or what you think you are—other than the whole... 'Norse god' thing, which I guess is pretty cool, but anyways—all I care about is going home."

I hold his gaze for a moment, before he casts his eyes down to the fire pit. "Yes, I've given that some thought as well—for the both of us," he says in a low voice, as the smile slowly fades as thoughts begin to form in his expression. "My understanding is that no one escorted you through the bifrost, and you weren't present in physical form on Asgard. Then a voice led you to the only other conduit in the universe that could materialize your boy. What I haven't quite reasoned yet, is why."

I look down at the fire, letting my face sink relaxedly into the memory. "Well the first time I heard it was in my room. I woke up and saw something… I couldn't make it out clearly, but I think it was the stone. And it said something about 'returning to it,' at the 'edge of creation.'"

Loki's eyes turn upward to the sky, and circle around us observantly. "Well," his throat bobs with the quiet mumble. "That answers another question—you weren't the one that brought us here."

"What do you mean?"

"The tesseract," he looks down at me. "The item you were led to—it houses the space stone, which can transport a person from one end of the universe to another—but it requires a will to draw upon."

"So…" I pause. "You're saying that the stone has a conscious will, and it manipulated the tesseract?"

Loki nods, "That's right."

I exhale sharply, "Okay… So where do we go from here?"

"There," he gestures in the direction behind me. "This place isn't barren, and we need a lead—so we need to find someone that can provide it for us."

"How do you know there're actual 'people' here?" I say, thinking back to the creature we'd encountered earlier. "That thing from before… I've never seen anything like that."

"Nor have I," he responds solemnly. "But while you were asleep, I went and had a look around. We appear to have landed in a trade route—and trade routes lead to cities, where there will like be some kind of populace. We'll follow that in the morning, and see where it leads."

I open my mouth—then pause for a moment, as doubt seeps into my chest.

Loki frowns. "What?"

I look up at him—at the absence of genuine care in his eyes—and sigh heavily.

"I'm just thinking," I say.

"Well, do tell," he says, in a soft, apathetic tone.

I look up at him. "Why do you care?"

His shoulder rises with a shrug. "I'm curious—you must have something interesting to say."

I pause.

"It's nothing we haven't talked about already," I say in a low voice, and shrug. "I just wish there was a more of a plan. It feels like we're leaving a lot of it up to chance, and the idea of casual space travel isn't exactly… conceivable," I say earnestly. "At least, not where I'm from."

His brow flinches thoughtfully, as he looks down into the fire. "On that point, I can only offer you this," he turns his gaze back up to me. "If it were easy, everyone would do it."

I peer at him for a moment, not knowing whether to nod, agree, or disagree—so I sigh heavily and look up into the sky, trying clear my head. Getting some rest would be fantastic, but I'm not sure that's possible.

"Yeah," I mumble. "I think that's more applicable to getting sleep right now…"

"If you want my advice, go on and try—and rest easy," he says as a flash of metal flips in the air above his hand. I look over and hear the dirt beside him sift, as he plunges the dagger into it. "No harm will come to either of us."

"You sure about that?" I raise a brow. "Not even from you?"

Loki's eyes narrow approvingly. "You're certainly wise to be distrustful," he tilts his head slightly. "But for now, you may simply 'trust' that it's not in my best interest to let you die."

His eyes are piercing, and pale enough to be colored red by the fire. He holds my gaze intently for a moment, like he's reading past the stillness of my expression.

I shrug. "Fine," I say tightly, waving a finger in his direction. "But just so you know, I sleep with one eye open."

I turn away quickly, and with a heavy sigh, I lower my hands onto the ground and turn over to the left—lowering myself down into a comfortable position. It takes a moment to settle into the sand, moments more to shove my brain into silence.


	3. Chapter 3: Sincerest Apologies

The following morning, we leave the safety of our camp for a long, arduous trek along the trade route—which apparently is outlined by two dim, glowing lanes built in the dirt. Loki discovered them last night while it was dark, and evidently, this what he meant when he said he'd gone exploring—while I was 'indisposed.'

I'd venture to say that I'm more indisposed now than I was last night, what with stress and lack of restful sleep beating down my spirit… There's also Loki's dour presence to contend with, and he doesn't seem to be a particularly talkative character. But at least he's mindful of our basic survival needs. Just this morning, he brought us little pouches filled with water from who knows where, and I've been carrying it around all day. Granted, I splashed half of it on my face to make sure I'm not still asleep, but he didn't exactly have a look of genuine care before or after—in fact, he didn't even bother to ask why I did that.

But, of course, I continue to remind myself of what we discussed last night: he's not my friend. We're here for different reasons, and he's keeping me alive because I'm a means to an end. That's all. He keeps me alive to find the seventh stone, and I help him do that by staying close… At least until I have more information on how to survive on my own—and on what to actually do with the stone, after I've found it.

I haven't told him I'm still thinking about that last part, though. I doubt he'd kill me, but… if he doesn't, he may very well leave me out here for something else.

I've had plenty of time to think this over in the past four hours of hiking, with Loki ahead of me. The path eventually widens as we get further away from the black sand fields, and leads us under a massive root that stretches over our heads and plunges into the ground—almost like a threshold under the tree line.

The underside of the root, along with the colorful vegetation growing along its surface, are pretty much all I can see until we get to the opening on the other side—where a flurry of movement in the sky suddenly heralds an assault on all my senses.

My eyes bolt upward at the sight and sound of a multitude of spaceships zooming around above our heads, catching the occasional glint of sunlight passing through small openings among the branches of the nearest tree. Which are too high up and sparse for rays of light reach the ground.

I follow the zipping spaceships with my eyes as I stumble down the path behind him, until vibrant patches of electronic platforms catch my attention along the sides of the tree. Glowing veins of various colors snaking between the folds of the tree trunk—glowing and flickering as some of the ships land on the platforms, or simply fly by.

Loki props his hands on either side of his hips as he exhales sharply, looking up at it all.

"Alright," he faces me. "There's likely a settlement somewhere around here—"

He pauses, furrowing a brow reactively to what I'm sure is the the stupidest look on my face. I can't hide my amazement though—this is the stuff of comic books down to the mark, like it jumped straight off the page… And I would know, because I actually have friends who are comic book artists.

"This is incredible," I smile, and lower my gaze down to his unamused expression. "Isn't it?"

Loki glances upward, and shrugs with a glimmer of casual appreciation. "I might've said so, once… But this is hardly the strangest world I've seen."

I widen my eyes. "Seriously? You've seen other places like this?"

He nods. "I've seen many worlds, yes," he says emphatically, seemingly taking the opportunity to boast a little. "Like Midgard, this one is but a single grain of sand in the cosmos."

"Yeah," I nod earnestly, propping my hands onto my hips as I look back up at the sky. "I've heard that expression—this is just a hell of an unexpected taste of that reality."

"Well," he gestures upward. "Go on and revel in it. I ask only that you don't lower your guard—that'd only cause more trouble for the both of us."

I lower my eyes down to him, "Of course," I nod. "Doesn't matter if I'm in a different country or a different town—I'm always careful in strange places, you don't need to worry about me."

Loki's evaluative eyes pass over me. "Good—let's keep going then," he turns to the path for a moment, but suddenly pivots back around with a finger pointed in the air. "One more thing—you should probably let me do all the talking."

"What?" I ask, raising a brow at him. "Are you sure?"

"If I wasn't sure, I wouldn't have said anything."

I bob my head to the side. "Well alright, but just so you know, I built an entire career in no small part by being able to charm the pants off total strangers," I grin sarcastically, waving a hand through the air. "Figuratively speaking—for the most part."

Loki lowers his chin as he peers back at me, "Well which of us do you suppose is better versed in political diplomacy?"

I shrug. "Well, if you want to get fancy—coquetry's more effective with men," my lips curl as I raise my hands to my hips, holding back a laugh… Wondering whether he'll know the big word. "Who do you suppose is better at that?"

Loki pauses, and his eyes dart up at me in a motionless stare—he definitely knows the big word.

And the slightly strained look on his face finally coaxes the laugh out of my chest, "Oh relax," my arms drop to my sides as I step past him, shaking my head amusedly as I pat his thick, leather pauldron. "I'm just kidding with you."

His lips thin, but I don't catch whether one of the corners curl before I turn back to the road and keep walking.

Our first encounter with people is just the corner, along the root's natural curve, and Loki shifts slightly closer to me as small tents and shops appear along both sides of the path. There's a variety of wares lining the streets—from crystalline lamps, to linen, to oddly shaped fruit. Spaceships continue zipping around above our heads, and I blink as a small cat hops onto a wooden beam to our left—with a blue metallic eye, and sheets of metal covering half its fur.

The people themselves don't look that much different from us, though their ears are pointier, and some of them are sporting elegant stripe tattoos. The only other difference is their clothes—the women's apparel is definitely not as modest as the suit Loki gave me, and nearly everyone's clothes are are heavily embellished with gleaming metals. So, compared to them, we stand out like two sore thumbs.

"Have you ever been here before?" I lean toward Loki, listening to the bustle of the market around us, and at the intermittent use of English with some other language.

"No," he says softly, leaning back toward me.

I straighten up, and just as we're about to pass by a tent laden with a variety of oddly shaped bottles, a cup abruptly appears in front of me—stopping me in my tracks. I follow the finely embroidered sleeve to the face of a tall, young-looking man, with slivers of blue stripes across his skin, and short, brown hair. Beside him is another, older looking man with similar colors, sporting an astutely unamused expression as he looks between us.

"For the lady?" he says with a glimmer in his eye, even as he glances at Loki.

I look up at Loki, and he lowers his chin with a subtle shake, peering at me intently

I turn to the man and grin politely. "No—thank you."

"Hm," I hear him mumble as I step past him. "That's a shame."

I stiffen at a sudden rush of fingers sliding all the way down my backside, over the side of my hip, and… under it.

"Don't touch me," I warn tonelessly, feeling his fingers linger on the side of my hip.

Loki frowns indignantly and takes a step toward us.

"Oh, sure," the man says smugly, and something inside me snaps at the subtle smirk—and demonstrative grab at my ass.

I turn sharply, looking over my right shoulder and meeting the man's brown eyes. The dirt slides under my heeled boots as I pivot abruptly, and send my right fist flying into the side of this face.

Gasps erupt around us as the impact sends him flying onto the ground. He turns over onto his back and glares up at me in shock, and—maybe a hint of amusement? I look around us, and nearly everyone in sight is gaping at us both. My eyes move face to face, as the anger that was roiling in my gut slowly calms to nervousness.

"How dare you," the other man looks up and sneers, kneeling down beside the man.

My conviction quickly turns into a lack of sureness, and I have no idea how to react. I won't apologize—so the other obvious option is to make off briskly down the path. I hardly get a chance to register Loki's expression as I walk past him, trying to ignore the whisper, and the sound of his boots as he turns to catch up with me.

"What a hit," he says, appearing beside me with a gleam in his eye. "I'm impressed—where on earth did that come from?"

I groan frustratedly, marching onward in the furthest mindset from amusement. I stop abruptly and turn toward Loki, watching the mirth in his eyes dull at the sight of my hard expression.

"On 'Midgard,'" I say in a soft and composed tone, while peering intently at him. "I had to defend myself from different types of monsters."

Loki's brow flickers perceptively, as his smile slowly disappears. He's trying to read me, and I don't know whether the keen thoughtfulness in his eyes means he picked up on my implication. But either way, I'm not sticking around here to find out. I turn and keep walking—not even sure where I'm supposed to go—I just know to keep walking through the market until I disappear into the safety of the crowd.

A sudden rush of footsteps behind us proves that to have been a good idea—albeit a late one. We turn toward the sound, and find a garrison of armored men pointing and running toward us. Loki grabs my arm and pulls me forward, eyes jumping from one soldier to another, like he's sizing them up.

"Run," I feel his breath on my cheekbone, just before he shoves me in the opposite direction.

We take off running, and manage to weave between a few small alleys, knocking over merchandise, before another troop of soldiers intercepts us from ahead. We slide to a stop with just a few inches of space between us, turning our heads from side to side.

"Lara," Loki's head snaps toward me, and I look up at him—at the solemn resoluteness in his pale, blue eyes. "I'm afraid you're going to have to trust me now."

"What—"

With a flash of bright green light, Loki dissipates entirely.

My eyes bolt widen open with a gasp, and fear slams into my body as I quickly wave a hand through the air where he was standing.

"Loki!?" I whisper sharply.

It's like he was never even here…

I hardly have a moment to process it before a pair of hands grab my shoulders roughly, while another clasp a pair of heavy, metal shackles tightly around my wrists.

"No—stop!" I blurt out. "The hell do you want!?"

"An apology," says a deep, sarcastic voice behind me. My eyes dart toward it, toward a man striding out from behind the line of soldiers—with a red-hot cheek.

He steps closer, leaning toward. "I'm waiting," he purrs.

I can't help the look of disgust on my face, so prying my mouth open takes an active effort.

"…so sorry." I hiss sarcastically.

His eyes narrow as his smile grows wider, and he shakes his head. "Tsk-tsk. Oh, I'm afraid I don't believe you."

I part my lips to respond, but another voice suddenly interjects from somewhere in the crowd.

"That's enough," it says, and the man turns sharply toward it.

A second, taller man casually steps out from behind the soldiers, and glances at me. "It's not like you didn't deserve it. Release her," he says in a commanding voice.

One of the soldiers immediately unlocks my shackles, and I raise my hands to my chest, rubbing away the rawness as I step away. I glance back at them—two heavy, dirty pieces of metal that are now hanging off the soldier's belt.

"Fuck off, Olen," the man sneers.

"You first, brother," Olen grins wryly as he steps past him, eyeing me. "And you—I thank you for the favor," he chuckles. "It was bound to happen, only a matter of time. What's your name?"

I look between them for a moment, lips sealed. I can see the resemblance—the same brown hair and eyes, even the color of their tattoos, if that's what they are. Olen's relaxed expression is slightly more welcoming than his brother's, invoking two separate impulses in my head: silence, or diplomacy. I wonder what Loki would choose.

"Lara," I say, deciding that the obvious answer is diplomacy. "Mercer."

"Lara Mercer," my names slips off the edge of his tongue, like one, single word. "You're not from around here, are you?"

I twist the corners of my mouth into a subtle grin—furthering my attempt at a pleasant dialogue. "I'm starting to think it's obvious."

He grins, tilting his head downward with a nod. "I'd say assailing the crown is quite definitive of that."

My lips part surprisedly as I glance at the brother—staring bitterly back at me.

"Oh, don't worry," Olen adds, straightening up as he looks back at him, preparing to patronize him further. "I'm sure my brother will come to his sense and apologize in a few days—won't you, Yerul?"

Yerul cocks his head to the side, and makes a vulgar gesture at his brother.

"I, uh…" I say nervously, as both of them turn and look at me. "Don't need an apology. Just don't do it again… To anyone," I add—for emphasis.

"There you are," Olen smiles and throws a hand up, motioning to his brother. "A conflict well-resolved—and maybe next time you'll think twice before acting like an ass."

I look over at Yerul. He rolls his eyes annoyedly and turns, strutting out of the circle with a look of malcontent—as if we were the ones who caused the unnecessary fuss. Olen grins at his departure as he turns and faces me,

"Pleasantly entertaining, my brother," he smiles warmly. "Either way, he brought me a pleasing acquaintance with you, Lara. What brings you to Vizela?"

I pause for a moment, looking up at him—at least now I know what this place is called. Some information is better than none, but I have no idea how much of my information is safe to share with him. There's not a lot of time to think about it, but Loki said we needed a lead, and I'll probably get more from him than from small talk with the shop keeps.

"I'm actually looking for something," I say reluctantly. "A… A very little stone."

"A very little stone?" he croons. "Amusing—I'm afraid we have many here," he gestures to the market stands.

"I know," I nod, glancing at the crystal objects hanging and laying on tables all around us. "I saw those. No, the one I'm looking for is, uh…" I pause, pursing my lips. Olen's brow flickers as he watches my attempt to formulate my thoughts. "Talkative?" I wince slightly.

A thoughtful nod is what I get—one that inexplicably, is not followed up by laughter… Hell, I'd laugh at me. It's hard to sound serious when what you're saying sounds crazy. It's also taking an effort to keep my voice steady as I look around for signs of Loki.

'Let me do the talking,' I voice him mockingly in my head… Damn it all. One of us should've seen this coming.

"So the very little stone talks," Olen says, crossing his arms as he tilts his head. "And… What does it look like?" his voice ends on a high, inquisitive note.

I crinkly my brows confusedly… He's humoring me? Which means he's either really nice, or really good at staying composed.

Either way, I don't want to make this a wasted opportunity. I could just mention something about the 'seventh infinity stone' and see where that takes the conversation, but… I think if Loki were here, and time stopped long enough for us to discuss, I think we'd agree to exercise more caution.

"Well," I sigh heavily, tucking a curl behind my ear "It's small. Round. And a white light emanates from it."

Olen's eyes narrow into two thin slits as he peers back at me.

"I see," he says, and his tone drops low. "And what does it say, when it speaks to you?"

My eyes flicker at a sudden realization—he's not humoring me. Or being nice. No, these questions are specific—which means he knows something.

"Well, it mentioned something about…" I pause with one last consideration of whether to mention the seventh stone. "'The edge of creation.'"

He gazes at me thoughtfully for a moment, and his meaningful expression suddenly reminds me of Loki. Strange, because I've never had an acquaintance stare at me intently for so long—and so unabashedly, as these two have. Maybe it's actually normal, and 'Midgardians' are actually the awkward ones.

"I don't know if that means anything to you," my words trail off as I shrug, waving a hand—attempting to dispel my own awkwardness.

Ole peers at me carefully for a moment. "Lara," he says intently with a warm, yet solemn tone. "If I'm not mistaken… I do believe that you're already aware of what you just described to me."

Icy nervousness bursts through my limbs as I look up at him, and shake my head slowly—trying to hide the adverse reaction.

"The god stone," he says.

My eyes widen with a blink.

Silence ensues as Olen's eyes pass over me, and I'm almost positive that he's looking for some other response—some kind of demonstrable awe, or acknowledgment. I can tell by the meaningful depth in his expression, that he probably doesn't realize how comparably little this information means to me. I still don't know what it is, what it does, or most importantly—what I have to do with it.

"So… the 'god' stone…" my words trail slowly. "Is the seventh infinity stone?"

Olen nods incisively. "You should know, its existence is a secret—but it is the very thing that gifts this land with fertile life and soil," he gestures to the ground around us, and I glance up at the massive trees—got an answer I wasn't looking for. "And protects us."

I look back at him, tilting my head confusedly. "If it's a secret, why would you tell me that?"

"Well, why don't you come with me," he says, offering an arm. "I believe it'd be easier to answer that with a demonstration." [to be continued]


	4. Chapter 4: The Yellow-Eyed King

There's a central path running through the marketplace that we've walking briskly along for the past fifteen minutes or so, and an opening in the roots of the tree slowly comes into sight along a long, sharp turn in the path. My attention has been split between conversing with Olen, looking around for Loki, and catching glimpses of what's beyond the opening in the tree. So far, I can only make out rows of bright lights stretching up in the hall that's visible beyond the edges of the threshold.

Finally, we come to a beautiful courtyard at the base of the tree. In width, it matches the size the opening, and the roots comprising the threshold stretch down and form the walls of the courtyard on either side, before extending into the marketplace behind us. Tiled floors flow in and out of the entry into the tree, and all the glowing, mechanical platforms I'd seen from far away are directly above my head now. I look up as we pass under the gargantuan walls of bark and metallic veins, and in a moment of sheer sensory overload, I feel my face growing heavy with astonishment…

All the detail, color, and textures of the tree are as perfect as a drawing, and there's hardly a ceiling in the hall beyond the entry. Multitudes of twinkling lights are built into wrinkles of the walls, and spiral upward to meet high above our heads. Meanwhile, the walls near the floor are covered with beautiful murals and metallurgic decor—which, as an artist, I can see were built intentionally along the natural, elegant patterns of the tree bark, to highlight them as perfect complements to the delicate structures of their glowing technologies.

Another tall passage to my right leads into another hall, but Olen leads me straight to the other side of the room. His pace slows as we near it, and comes to a stop just outside a crowd of people.

"I'll need a moment," he says warmly, taking my hand in his and planting a small kiss on it. "Please wait for me here."

"Sure," I nod friendlily, and watch for a moment as he turns and walks away.

As soon as he disappears around the edge of the crowd—along with the other two or three sentries that were following us—I turn slowly and start glancing around for Loki, while maintaining an outward appearance of composure and disinterest.

"Loki," I whisper sharply. I don't even know if he can hear me at such a low volume—but I suppose not, since everything around me goes on as usual. No sudden movement, or even a single glance in my direction from any of the finely dressed people standing dispersedly around the room. If Loki's here, he's definitely good at pretending he's not.

"Her name is Lara," I suddenly hear Olen's voice from across the room, and turn to see the crowd opening up in front of me.

Now there are eyes on me—more than I'm comfortable with. One particularly yellow pair of eyes stands out among the rest, belonging to an older man sitting atop an elevated throne. The throne itself has a number of glowing, silvery-white veins extending overhead like a multitude of horns, and snaking along the stratum of the tree above. And there, just two feet above his head, is where they meet behind a small, glass sphere perched at the top of the throne.

My muscles tense as my eyes land on the sphere, and at the familiar white light emanating brightly from the core. A sudden movement breaks my focus on it, and I look down to see Olen extending a hand out to me from beside the throne.

I glance back once last time—one last chance, Loki…

Nothing.

I sigh quietly—onward with our improvisation, I suppose.

It takes a forcible effort to pull the two corners of my mouth into a smile as I tread forward nervously, and take one heavy step onto the dais surrounding the throne.

The closer I get, the further I want to be. Olen's curled fingers extend outward as I approach him slowly, and raise my hand up to him. With one arm tucked behind his back, he takes my fingers and pulls me forward gently, until I'm standing just in front of the yellow-eyed king—at least, I assume this is the king. His tattoos are different from everyone else's, and they're more than simple stripes—they're white, curved, and cover the near entirety of his exposed skin.

"So," a deep, grizzly voice pours out of his throat as he looks me up and down. "You're in search of the god stone?"

I glance at Olen, who tilts his head approvingly, with sharp conviction glinting in his eyes.

"That's right," I say flatly, practically whispering.

The king gestures toward me annoyedly and rolls his eyes toward Olen. "And what makes you think this woman can find it? Thousands have tried before her, thousands will once more," he says, turning back to me. "If you come as aid from another land, I would have you at the front of our war, not wasting time and resources on a pointless quest. Tell me, where are you from?"

I glance at Olen with a furrowed brow, but he doesn't even flinch responsively. He never mentioned a war.

"I'm from…" I pause, trying to remember what Loki had called it. "Midgard."

The king's eyes narrow dubiously, as Olen steps forward and places a heavy, tight grip on my shoulder.

"She claims to have spoken to the god stone," he says matter-of-factly. The king peers down at me thoughtfully.

"I did," I say resolutely, trying to hide the flicker of embarrassment in my chest. "And I understand if you don't believe me—I'm here now because Olen asked me to come. I thought I could find answers to... Well, everything."

I look up at Olen's angled profile as they exchange glances, though I can't make out their tacit dialogue.

The king exhales frustratedly. "I've no help to offer, but answers—that, I have. If what you say is true, then I may have something for you. Something that would be of better use in your hands than it is in ours. If you are truly destined to find the god stone, then it is yours to keep," he pauses, lowering his chin. "Can you guess what it is?"

My eyes flicker up toward the sphere above his head.

"That's right," he says, following my eyes. "Do you know what it is?"

I part my lips hesitantly as I peer up at it. "I recognize the light, it's the same one I saw in—" I pause. "In my vision."

It feels like every time I open my mouth to talk, I'm walking a thin line between sense and insanity. Like a never-ending, automatic spell check in my head—except it's more of a don't-sound-like-a-crazy-person check.

"I see," the king says dryly, standing from the throne and gesturing to the sphere. "Well go on and take it then, if you will."

A long purple robe trails behind his towering stature as he steps to the side—while I stand motionlessly, wrestling with uncertainty as I glance between him and Olen. My mind's been so occupied with the conversation itself, that I hadn't realized just how evaluative Olen's expression has been—and the king's now, too.

"If that's not the god stone," I ask reluctantly, turning my head toward Olen. "What is it?"

"Think of it as a tracking device," he says. "If what you say is true, it will help you find the stone."

I lower my chin suspiciously. "And… you just want to give it to me?"

"You don't strike me as a liar, Lara—but if you are," his voice drops low. "I'm not concerned with being unable to take it back."

I swallow a hard, nervous lump at the thought. Not exactly encouraging, but given my limited options, I suppose I have no choice but to play along. I take a shallow breath and step up to the throne, trying to mask my apprehension. I glance down at the smooth, purple cushion comprising the seat, and slowly, my eyes trail upward over the gleaming, white metal. Finally they land on the sphere, and even now, I still can't make out what's on the inside.

I raise a knee slowly onto the cushion—allowing a few seconds for them to stop me—and grab one of the silver stiles, pulling myself forward until I can reach the sphere with an extended arm. The closer I get, the faster the heat and color start to drain from my face. I wrap my fingers slowly against the glass, which is warm under my skin and humming with energy. I pause for a moment, waiting for a reaction that doesn't come, before tightening my fingers over it and pulling hard.

The glass scrapes against the rough socket with every twist and tug, as it slowly comes loose. All the while, I feel the vibration growing stronger and stronger—like the socket was keeping it under control—and with one final squeeze to pull it loose, light flashes from the center, and the glass immediately grows hot under my skin.

Before I can pull away, pieces of debris explode into the air, and something shoots out from the center of the sphere with great momentum—piercing the palm of my hand and pushing it backward into the air—with me flying back after it. I land with a forceful thump at the edge of the dais, where my upper arm takes the impact instead of my face, and the back of my injured hand bounces against the corner of the dais.

My last thread of self restraint snaps as I roll over, gasping at the electrifying pain shooting up my arm. I slide my body forward with my elbows and lift myself onto my knees, crouched and clutching my wrist as hot, searing pressure concentrates in the palm of my bloody hand. Tears pool in my eyes as I turn my head sharply, and glare up Olen with an intense fury—ignoring the gasps and indiscernible cries all around me.

"What is this!?" I hiss.

With arms lowered defensively at his side, Olen peers back at me—eyes wide and lips slightly parted. Intense shock suddenly breaks out in his expression as his eyes dart down from my face to my hand. He steps back as I look down, seeing small flurries of light quickly seeping from the wound, and snaking up my arms. Streams of warmth spread with them under my skin, reaching up into my neck, and finally, to my eyes. With a quick blink, the world around me disappears into an abrupt darkness.

My breathing stops.

The air inside my mouth is absolutely still as my eyes bolt around the space, moving at a million miles per hour. There are no more people—no recognizable faces or voices. Everything and everyone has disappeared, and left balls of glowing string behind in the enclosure of the room. The figures shudder and shift as my eyes pass over them, sending ripples of movement throughout the rest of the interconnected webs.

I can barely feel my skin scraping against the ground as I shift against it, or hear the sound of air passing into my lungs as I finally take a shallow breath… The only sensation I still feel is the pain, reminding me that I'm still a physical being in this empty space.

In a quick, careless attempt to stand, I shuffle against the ground and accidentally clench the muscles in my right hand—gasping sharply at the subsequent bite of pain, and shut my eyes tightly. Sweat builds up over every inch of my body as I wait for it to calm, and the scene returns to normal when I open them again.

Beads of sweat roll down my face as I take several breaths, turning my head slowly and looking about, at the multitude of widened eyes staring at me in horror. After a moment of watching aimless glances and head turns, I gather enough composure to slowly lift myself onto my feet, and turn toward Olen and the king.

"What did you do to me?" I ask breathlessly, glaring at them from under the curls falling over my face—resultant from my hunched position.

Olen steps closer to me slowly, eyes wide. "No—we didn't do this, Lara," he says, practically whispering with astonishment. "This was its will, and now... We know for sure."

Silence hardens around us with his unexpected pause.

"Well, I'm sure I've had enough of that," I snap, shaking my head as I stepping back defensively. "No more riddles—you better start being specific."

"Your connection with the god stone, our stories—it's all real," he says earnestly, and a smile stretches across his face. "It's all real."

Adrenaline barrels through my body, and the closer he gets, the more I prepare myself to lunge if he tries to make a grab at me.

Movement shudders in the corners of my eyes as I step back, off the dais. People are backing away, and I'm not sure whether they're recoiling from me, the prince, or the guards that are now approaching me slowly on either side of him.

"Lara," Olen raises his hands. "There's really no need for any of this—we mean you no harm at all."

"Oh, yeah?" I cock my head, and thrust my hand demonstrably toward him. "I'd say knowing you has been pretty fucking harmful to me."

A meaningful look spreads across his face as he looks down at it. "This isn't harm—this is destiny," he says softly, and looks back up at me. "Look around you," he says earnestly, gesturing to the crowd. "If you don't trust me, then ask our people—they will tell you."

Olen motions for the guards to stop approaching me. "Go on," he says calmly, with a nod. "I mean it—ask them what this means."

I stare at him for a moment, and reluctantly look away, toward the line of people surrounding me. A series of whispers breaks out with the sound of beads shifting metals, as people exchange glances and mumble nervously all around me. Finally, my eyes land on one woman in particular, standing in the front and staring back at me with deep intent. Her throat bobs as she swallows hard, and glances at Olen as she steps forward.

"M—my name is Lothrana," she says nervously. "If I may speak for the crown." She turns her head, and I look over to see Olen nodding responsively to the woman.

Her dejected expression tightens as she returns to me. The room grows silent as everyone waits for her to speak.

Finally, her lips part reluctantly. "I lost my brother," she says with a terrible softness. "They called him a mindless brute, but… Even he couldn't survive the front, and…"

I narrow my eyes confusedly as her voice trails off, and two glimmering pools of tears fill her eyes. After a moment of trembling lips, it's clear that words aren't going to come forward. I look back up at Olen, who sighs deeply with annoyance and frustration before looking back at me.

"Lara," he says in a gentle tone. "What you have in your hand, is a single shard of the god stone."

Silence.

"Shard?"

Olen nods. "The emblem of our history," he says, and steps down from the dais, in front of me. My chest sinks slightly with a sigh, as I pray silently for no more rounds of pointless monologuing—maybe information I can use, this time?

"The first bearer of the god stone was a creature born of the dark realms, who could travel to worlds that no living being could reach. That is what made him an impeccable host. His name was Seron," Olen continues. "But the god stone abandoned him still, when his hunger for power grew toward limitless ambitions. It then ventured to choose a new host, and found one on the furthest living planet on the edge of the universe—ours."

I glance at the ground, remembering what the god stone said in my room—to find it at the 'edge of creation.' That must be what it was talking about.

"Seron was determined to retrieve the stone, of course." Olen continues. "But absorbing his armies, along with the life force from his body, was a feat that the bearer could not withstand... She perished," he pauses, staring at me intently.

"But through their bond, the god stone resurrected her immaterial soul with a sacrifice—a piece of itself that called back the remnants of her existence, and bonded them together into a creation of its own."

A creation of its own...

"For the god stone needs its host," he glances at my hand. "A pure, strong soul that will not be crippled by ambition, or taken by darkness. It ensures that no other being will wield all seven gems, and hold power over all living things."

Olen steps closer to me, and gestures to my hand. "And only the one living bearer can harness the full potential of the god stone—that is why the shard bonded with you. It had remained in place within that sphere for hundreds of generations. Until today."

The quiet whispers of the hall fill my ears as I stare blankly at him. And I can only imagine what he's thinking, looking at my face right now. I can't help but wonder whether he can see my disbelief, and whether he can guess that my mouth is getting dry from hanging open through all that. A moment goes by where no one talks, and I step away from him slowly as a distinct realization creeps in—that this was all a test, and Olen must not have been sure whether I'd take the shard knowing what could happen, or what it would mean.

He would've been right.

"I know this all must seem so deceitful," he says, breaking the silence. "And I am truly sorry that it had to be done this way. I will have that cared for immediately," he glances down at my hand. "But you must understand—I did tell you it would require a demonstration. And as my father said, there are enemies at our doorstep, and there have been thousands before you that have tried to find the stone. Thousands who have claimed to hear its voice and feel its presence—"

"What would you have done," I interject, and my eyes trail up to him darkly. "If nothing happened?"

I glance at the yellow-eyed king behind him, still standing beside the throne and peering at me motionlessly. Olen's lips close, and a faint distance settles over his face. "That doesn't matter now."

I part my lips. "No, I think it does."

"I would've had you executed," he says flatly, and I press my lips together in shock.

To have such a close brush with death, and not even know it… The thought of that alone has anger summoning heat and color to my cheeks—though the rest of my body is stiff as ice.

"You were the one who told me about the god stone, back in the marketplace," I say slowly. "So that means... You knew when you told me, that there was a chance you were throwing my life away."

He parts his lips, and nods solemnly. "I would have had to, to protect our secret."

My eyes soften worriedly as Loki's face appears in my mind, and I look away—scanning the crowd of unfamiliar faces. Who's to say they won't execute him?

"I know, you must be thinking of your friend—the man that was with you," Olen says, and I look back at him. "I'm afraid we cannot let him go."

I hold his gaze for a moment, and something other than anxiety starts to roil in my chest—a sort of protective instinct, fueled by the rage I'm starting to feel over all these lies and stipulations.

"No," I growl quietly.

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice," Olen says solemnly.

"No you don't have a choice," I snap, and my voice drops low. "You want my help finding the stone? You want my help at all? Well, I'm not walking into any of this without my friend. So I'm telling you right now that any move you make against him, is a move against me—and that's not up for negotiation."

I watch as Olen holds my gaze intently. The look in his eyes is obviously sharp disagreement, but I couldn't care less. Hell, I thought I'd snapped when I had that panic attack, but that was nothing compared to this. This isn't fear, or exhaustion, or shock—this is pure, unadulterated resolve pumping through me.

"Well said," says a dulcet voice to my right.

Olen and I both turn in its direction, and a chorus of gasps arises from the crowd as Lothrana's newly smiling visage suddenly melts away—replaced by Loki's with a glimmer of light. Olen takes a few steps, motioning the guards to come forward as Loki raises his hands wryly, and grins.

I inhale sharply—the first deep breath I've taken since this started—and relief floods through my body as he steps closer to me.

"Who are you?" the softness in Olen's voice has disappeared.

"I am Loki, Prince of Asgard," he says matter-of-factly, and gestures to me. "And my friend, here, is under the protection of Asgard—my protection. As she so aptly phrased, any 'advances made against her' will be answered for—violent," he glances at Olen. "Or otherwise untoward."

"Your protection means nothing here," Olen says darkly.

"You're wrong," I interject. "His protection means a hell of a lot more to me than yours."

A cunning grin tugs on the corner of Loki's mouth as he blinks at me.

"So if you want my help," I add, exchanging glances with him. "These are my terms."

I look u at Olen—who narrows his eyes responsively, as tension ripples through his jaw. "If this is how things must be… In exchange for your help—this is what you want?" He nods at Loki. "This man's safety?"

I pause for a moment, looking between them. Staying alive has been my chief concern, and I have that now—at least I think I do, considering the fact that both these people have plenty of incentive to keep me alive. Not that I'd let Olen in on my awareness of that, but there's one other thing I need…

"No," I say sharply, lifting my chin. "I have one other thing I need. When all of this is over, I want to go home—and if you know a way, then I want you to show me."

Loki and Olen both stare at me, their expressions unreadable. The room grows quiet around us three—a troupe of pawns, playing a game of deals and incentives. And actually, it has me wondering whether this public display is intentional—a way of backing me into a corner that would otherwise lead to a very public uprising against me.

"Very well," Olen finally says. "In exchange, I will expect your full cooperation. Not only in finding the god stone, but using it to help us end this war."

I nod. "Find me that stone," I glance at Loki. "And we'll figure out the rest."

A subtle hint of approval flickers in Loki's eyes as he looks back at me with his guileful grin. Of course he approves—I've made an active effort to keep him in the game, and protect him as well.

"I hope you know what you are doing," says Olen, staring at Loki distrustfully.

It's not hard to see the disconcertment in his eyes, but it doesn't strike me as being a show for all the people surrounding us. No—trust runs deep in their eyes as well, which I can see plainly as I look around at them. Their expressions have been soft when regarding the crown, and turned aptly cold with doubt and distrust when looking at me.

And, hell… All else equal, of course I wouldn't leave all these people to die, if there was something I could do about it. They're not the ones who lied and manipulated me, and if there's anything I've learned in my life, it's that there are good and bad people everywhere.

"Whatever happens moving forward," I say, still looking around at their faces, while Loki's head turns slowly toward me. I look up and meet his pale, blue eyes for a moment, before turning back to Olen. "I'll do my best to help your people."

Olen peers at me for a moment, and his expression softens with a grateful nods. "I hope that's true. And for now, we…" he pauses for a moment, and sighs. "We have rooms, and you can go to rest—I will send a healer to you in the meantime."

Olen gestures for one of the guards to come forward, and he turns and mumbles something to them.

"Loki comes with me?" I ask intently, with a raised brow.

Tension flickers in his jaw as he looks back at me. "Yes, he goes with you," Olen says assuredly.

I nod, while Loki and I exchange glances as the guard steps forward, asking us to follow. The last thing I see before turning away from the throne, is the king—leaning against the side of the throne, and peering at me with thinned lips, and adamant silence.

* * *

The rooms are on one of the topmost levels of the tree, near the branches. We passed through three different halls built into the hollow trunk, before we came to a cordless, glass elevator that would take us up to it. The car itself suspended over a small, magnetic platform built into a small corridor at the side of the hall, and up top is an opening where it's meant to ascend.

I climb into the elevator first, flinching as it drops a little with my weight. I step toward the glass and turn as Loki follows, along with the guard. As the doors shut, and the elevator levitates up and out of the hall. I turn toward the glass and see it's almost nighttime now, and only a few specks of the darkening sky are still visible through the branches above.

I look down, seeing my own reflection staring out at the city below, and realize that the marketplace we'd entered into was hardly the metropolis… I couldn't have seen it from the other side of the tree, but being high up off the ground like this means looking out into a cornucopia of twinkling lights, glowing fixtures, and multitudes of elegant courtyards. Miles away, I can see variations of dim and bright lights illuminating patches of tree bark, while the same glowing red and blue veins outline the length of the trees and roots in the distance—as well as the one we're ascending.

In the corner of my eye, I see Loki's head turn in my direction, before peering back at the scenery behind us. I turn and look at him, seeing the sides of his face glow blue and red from the veins pulsating as we rise past them.

Finally, we both turn back as the elevator settles onto a platform with a heavy thud, somewhere near the top. A cold breeze hisses as the doors open once more, letting the icy air inside, and the guard disembarks. Loki gestures for me to step off next, and we follow as the guard turns right and leads us through a catacomb of ambient hallways lined with doors and wall lamps.

The hallway itself seems to be built along the natural shape of the branches underneath, and we tread along the curves until it begins to narrow, and the guard finally stops to open one of the doors at the very end.

Loki and I exchange glances, and watch as he turns and gestures for us to enter. I blink at the guard confusedly for a moment, wondering if they expect us both to stay in this room—but I step forward anyway, crossing over the threshold, and immediately realize that the design of this room is actually built for two guests.

From the foyer, the room splits into two curved corridors—one above, and one below. Both are ambient, just like the hallway, and fairly simple in decor: one small bed on each level, a desk, and a rug.

As I step up onto the upper level, I look up to see that a giant window comprises the wall in front of the bed—the wall to my left. Beyond the little night stand nestled on the far end of the bed, the corridor squeezes into a sharp corner, leaving no more room for furniture.

I step closer to the window, and look to see the same view I'd seen from the elevator—along with a tube-like structure directly below me, which I assume is Loki's 'room.' I continue looking out at the myriad of city lights as I shuffle backward toward the bed, and plop down onto it. My body weighs heavily into the soft mattress, and just as I begin to feel a scintilla of relaxedness, I'm reminded of my accompaniment by the sudden thud of the door being shut.

I jump from the abrupt sound, and look over to see that Loki still standing there, on the foyer—also looking back at the door. I turn away slowly, listening as his boots begin sliding against the ground in my direction, and my sullen body relaxes depressively as I stare ahead into the sparkling metropolis.

"I must say," he says amusedly as he climbs the stairs and strides toward the desk, and leans on it. "You'd make quite the politician."

I don't know if that was meant as a complement or a joke, but I'm in no mood to blush or laugh. I hadn't even realized how much this entire ordeal had drained me until now, but it's as if every ache and pain has woken up inside my body, and decided to have a dance party. The bleeding in my hand seems to have stopped, but the pain hasn't, and I haven't stopped trying to keep it elevated and still.

"I'm not a politician," I say flatly—the most basic response, since I can't gather the will to say much more. My chest sinks as I watch him step into my peripheral view, staring at me—and seemingly ready to make more conversation.

"No?" he asks. "What are you then?"

"I'm an artist," I mumble, glancing down at my bloody hand—my drawing hand—as sadness tightens in my chest.

"An artist," he repeats with an emphatic nod. "I wouldn't have guessed."

I look up at him dully. "You don't know me very well."

Loki grins, and shrugs wryly. "Well, I know you've got uncanny shoulder strength—doubtlessly meant for backhanding princes—and an aptitude for drawing attention to yourself."

My brows rise slowly as my chin tilts downward, and I stare demonstrably at him for a moment. "Right—I'll be sure to convey your grievances to my supervisor."

His angular faces softens with an amused grin. "It's more of a warning than a grievance," he says.

"Got it," I say, looking back down. "I'll keep that in mind."

Words are easy, execution is hard. What happened today was loud, public—and very unplanned. I couldn't have begun to predict everything that happened, and all this really isn't the sort of thing you get trained to anticipate and deal with in art school. With every passing minute, it just feels like the edge of the knife keeps getting sharper, and the only way out is through. Which means I have to set aside the emotions, the fantasies, and pretty much everything about me that makes me a great artist, if I want to make room for being calm and strategic in the moment—which will ultimately keep me alive.

Loki pauses for a moment, and finally steps back. "Well, alright—I sense you wish to be left alone."

"Doesn't matter," I let out a heavy, frustrated sigh, and the words flow quietly out from between my lips. In the corner of my eye, Loki stops, and turns back toward me. "I'm going it alone, just like I always have…" I mumble under my breath, and raise a hand to rub my throbbing temples.

"That's right," he says quietly, with a solemn nod. "Though that shouldn't upset you—you'd be wise to accept yourself as your only advocate."

"You don't have to tell me that," I say, and my hand plops down on my knee as I look up at him. "You don't have to keep reminding me that you're not my friend."

Loki pauses, and his brow flickers inquisitively. "Am I not?" he asks. "I believe you told them differently."

"I told them what I had to, to keep myself—and you—alive," I say, holding his thoughtful gaze. "Our deal still stands. You need me, and I need you. But it's a transaction—not the sort of thing to build a friendship on."

"No, it is not," he says, shaking his head slowly as he glances at the ground with a raised brow. "Although, since we both seem to know the value of a worthy partner, perhaps we may agree to… advocate for one another."

I blink, and look up at him—considering the implication.

"You just told me never to assume that I have an advocate outside myself," I ask, after a moment of contemplation. "How do you know I won't betray you?"

"Honestly?" Loki's eyes narrow knowingly, and his lips curl into the faintest smile as he stares back at me for a moment. "Something in you tells me that you won't."

"And what's that?"

He pauses, and tilts his head musingly. "Something reminiscent of myself."

I knit my brows together confusedly, but look away. My eyes are getting heavier and heavier with every passing minute, and I just don't have the energy to keep up with this conversation anymore.

"Okay, whatever you say…" I shrug, and lay a hand on the bed to push myself back further on it. My injured hand clenches accidentally from the sudden movement, and I cringe at the reawakened pain at the core of my hand.

I exhale sharply, bearing my teeth, and my shoulders sulk depressively once more as I look back down at my hand, where minute beads of blood have pooled in the spots where I reopened the wound. In the top half of my vision, I see Loki glance back at the door, before sighing with frustration and stepping toward me.

"I'll have a look at that."

"…What?" I ask, looking up as he turns and lowers himself down on the edge of the bed.

The mattress sinks as his weight settles into it, and he turns his head toward me—with his body still facing the window—and extends his right hand out.

I look down at it for a moment—at the callused palm, the dark green sleeve, and finally, at Loki's blank expression.

I grimace slightly at the thought of him feeling obliged to touch my mutilated hand.

"It's… all bloody," I mutter reluctantly.

"I can manage," he says with a subtle nod.

I peer at him for a moment, and finally bob my head downward in agreement. With slow, hesitant movements, I ball my left hand into a fist and press it against the blanket, lifting myself up to shift closer to him, and leaving one leg hanging off the bed. Once settled, I lift my injured hand into the air, an inch or two above his palm.

Loki's fingers unfurl as he lifts his hand and cups the underside, gripping it lightly, to pull it closer. I cringe as he raises his other hand up next to the other, and slides his thumbs over the edges of my hand—onto the dry, scabbing edges of my palm. He runs them tenderly along the surface in a surveying manner, while faint, stinging pain breaks out over my skin, despite the gentle touch. I look up at him, at the intentness in his expression, and silence settles between us for a moment, as his eyes move slowly over each of the cuts created by the broken glass.

Finally, his lips part as he looks up, with a sharp inhale through his nostrils.

"Well," he says, exhaling. "There are no shards in your hand, it seems they all blew past it."

"What about the shard?"

"—All but that one," he adds, raising a brow as he glances down at my hand, and looks back up at me. "That one has gone quite deep. Can you feel it?"

"No," I say. "I mean.. It all hurts, there's nothing to discern it by."

Loki's brow flinches contemplatively, and he glances about us for a moment, before returning to my hand with a blank expression. With one resolute blink, he slides one hand over my palm, still using the other to hold it up.

"What're you doing?" I ask.

With a quick burst of air between his teeth, Loki shushes me.

I blink amusedly at the abruptness, and look back down at my palm. His warm fingers suddenly grow hot at the base of my wrist, and he runs them gently down the length of my hand—barely touching my skin.

A warm tension flickers in my chest as the stinging, the throbbing, and the aching sensations slowly disappear.

Finally, Loki exhales as the tips of his fingers brush over the the edge of mine.

"There," he says, looking up at me. "That should help. And the wounds should fully close in three days' time, with proper care. You'll have to be careful though, else your recovery will be quite precarious. What I did only masks the pain, it does nothing else."

I part my lips, still staring down at my hand.

"Three days?" I ask breathlessly. "That sounds too fast…"

"Not with superlative care," he says, and leans toward me slightly. "Try not to backhand anyone for that duration."

I look up at him, at the corners of his mouth curled with amusement. For a moment there I would've forgotten how to take a joke, but the look on his face does a pretty good job of lifting the tension. If I didn't know better, I'd think some speck inside him is trying to cheer me up.

"Everyone should refrain from pissing me off for that duration," I say laughingly as I look down at my hand, and a glimmer of lightness warms my chest—the first I've felt since all this happened.

Loki grins, seemingly satisfied. "Well," he says with a single nod. "I suppose I should start that off with leaving you to rest—though in the coming days, I suggest we pay a visitation to the ground. See what else there is to learn about these people."

"Mmm," I look up with a raised brow, and a twinkle of sly amusement. "Are we going undercover?"

Loki bobs his head approvingly. "Of course," he says, and I watch as he slowly turns and lowers his hands to his sides—preparing to lift himself off the bed. "No other way to do it," he grins.

In a quick impulse, I reach out and lay my left hand on his shoulder. Loki stops and glances at it quickly, before looking back at me with a questioning expression.

"What?"

I blink, and the light warmth in my chest slowly spreads into a genuine, appreciative smile across my face. Without a word, I shift onto my left knee—using the leg still hanging off the edge to lift myself slightly off the bed—and wrap one arm over his leather pauldrons in a quick embrace.

"Thanks—for my hand," I say, and my strained breath lifts a few dark strands of hair out of place on the back of his neck. We're both unmoving for a moment, and the roughness of his hair brushes against my cheek as I finally pull back.

His expression is practically unchanged, if not slightly surprised, as he peers back at me. I feel my cheeks flush slightly, and I take a deep breath to counter it.

"Well—kindness wasn't part of our deal, so…" my words trail off, and silence hardens around us as I watch the sudden myriad of thoughts flutter across his eyes. Finally, he exhales lightly through his nostrils, and his look of deep contemplation settles to a relaxed acquiescence.

"Sentiment…" he mutters blankly with a tug on the corner of his mouth, and tilts his head downward with an acknowledging nod.

I furrow a brow as he stands and walks composedly across the room, without another word or looking back. His boots are heavy and loud against the steps, and after a moment, Loki disappears around the corner.

[to be continued]


	5. Chapter 5: Creature at the Festival

With 'superlative' care, it takes the full three days for my hand to heal. In the meantime, I've been passing the time in bed, propped up against the wall with a book and paper in my lap—sketching the view outside my window. Granted, it's been hard to do with the cuts on my hand, which is why it's also taken me the full three days, as opposed to my usual hour at the most.

On the third morning, Loki comes up to my room around midday.

"Good morning," he says, and his long, green cape trails over his ankles as he steps over the topmost stair. He pauses for a moment, scanning the little balls of paper strewn about the floor, before continuing toward me.

I look up, hand flattened relaxedly against the page, and lower the book down onto my blanket-covered lap. "Morning," I respond.

Loki strides over to the foot of the bed, eyes dropping down to the sketch. "Finished that one, did you?"

I nod, glancing down at it. "Yeah, this one's less embarrassing," I mumble, taking the corner of the page and holding it up against the light before me—where all the tiny strokes and smudges of the graphite are plainly visible against the sheet. It's far from perfect, but not offensive either.

"Glad to hear it," he says, stepping over to the window. "But I suggest you take a rest—it may interest you to see what's going on outside."

I raise a brow suspiciously, nudging the book and paper toward the right, and blanket to the left. The night gown I was given trails behind me as I slide off the mattress, and the chill, hardwood floor cools my feet as I step closer to the window.

I look up at Loki, and his head sways slightly as he surveys the ground for a moment. "There," he mumbles, tapping a finger against the glass as a gesture to my right.

I turn, nearly pressing my face against the glass to see what he's talking about. Through the myriad of large spaceships and other airborne vessels, I see the courtyard that we entered into from afar. Only this time, I can vaguely make out a small crowd that's layered against the sides, with two or three people moving about sporadically in the middle.

"What's going on?" I mumble, and my breath fogs up the glass.

"No idea," he says, as I turn and face him. "But if you've recovered, it may be the occasion to make good on our plans."

I nod contemplatively as I step away from the glass, running my hands over the top of my hair. We discussed it at length a few days ago, how we'd go down to the ground, and Loki would hocus-pocus us a brand new pair of faces. The idea's so much more amusing to me than it should have been—especially when he mentioned he could even change us into Olen and his father. Oh, the carnage that'd assuredly ensue…

"I agree. And we have our plan," I exhale sharply and step back, raising both hands in front of me in a gesture. "So go ahead and do it, just… Make it fast."

Loki tilts his head wryly. "What—didn't like it the first time?"

I wince slightly, remembering how he'd changed my appearance for a moment the other day, to give me an idea of how it'd go. Call it a bone-deep sensation…

"Well," I shrug sarcastically. "First time's always the worst."

Loki blinks and looks away, brows rising with a subtle grin. "Are you ready?" he croaks amusedly.

" _Mhm,_ " I respond in like.

"Good," he says, looking back, and waves a hand quickly through the air without warning.

With a flash of light, I shudder as the familiar feeling of brushing fabrics erupts all over my skin, and pressure presses outward from inside my ears and cheeks. I look up at Loki, whose hair is now a light brown color, and his pale blue eyes are a deeper shade of blue. The sides of his face and neck are etched with green tattoos, and his leather uniform is replaced by a dark green shirt with a long, sleeveless blazer-vest with hanging, metallic embellishments.

I look down at myself next—at the patterned, half-sleeved dress tumbling over the curves of my body, and ending at my knees. To top off the simplistic look, my unchanged hair spirals over my shoulder in a loose, elegant braid, and green tattoos spread across my own exposed skin.

I look up at him, raising a brow. "I take it green's your favorite color?"

Loki grins, wrinkling his nose with a demonstrative nod. "It's quite 'me.'"

The corner of my mouth curls with a grin. "Fair enough," I raise both hands to my hips. "So now what?" I cock my head in the direction of the door. "Are we going down the way we came up?"

"No other way—if you're ready."

I turn briefly, glancing down at the book resting on the unmade bed, along with the the dark leather suit hanging over one of the frames.

" _Mhm_ ," I bob my head downward. "I think I'm ready."

* * *

Loki and I take the same elevator that brought us to the top of the tree, and make our way through the triage of halls and through the first exit that we see—another small entry point between two wrinkles of the trunk. With Loki to my right, we stride along a path, and out into the metropolis.

A festival—that's what's going on out here, judging by the music and decor. The paths are especially festive, and are lightly covered by wispy canopies of fine, silver strings and metal pendants. They're beautiful to look at on their own, as they gleam brightly—despite the warm, yet cloudy weather—and flicker reflectively in the shadows of the spaceships flying by.

" _Wow,_ " I murmur, slowing down along the path. Loki slows as soon as he notices me falling behind, and I trudge on beside him, looking up at the sights and sounds surrounding us.

In the daytime ambiance, I can also see that the stands and shops extend outward into taller, residential structures, stretching higher and higher into the air as they near the neighboring trees. Some of them even twist and rise over the bases, and along the trunks themselves. It's strange, because I would've expected the 'main' one—the one with the throne room—to be at the center of this massive forest. Instead, it's almost like they placed it intentionally at the edge of the forest, to be some kind of guarding entity.

And really, if I thought this place was impressive before, it's simply breathtaking now. The air in my immediate space is filled with the sweet aroma of fresh pastries, and all the stands are laden with a variety of gadgets, jewels, and elegant textiles. But the large, winding paths—those are the true jewels of the festival. The people themselves are garnishing them with a multitude of beautiful wardrobes, smiles, and pleasant-sounding conversation.

"It's like walking through a foreign country," I remark.

" _Hm,_ " Loki bobs his head, glancing at me briefly. "Midgard must be more interesting than I give it credit for."

I shake my head—glancing briefly in the direction of three bright voices breaking out into melodic song.

"No, it's not like this," I pause, gandering at the sudden group of soldiers walking by us, hands resting on their blade hilts. I gesture to them, "Although, that's pretty familiar…"

Loki turns and peers at them, waiting for them to pass before responding. "See much of your militia?"

I nod, looking back. "Yeah, that kind of security…" I glance up at him. "It's not usually a good sign."

Loki tilts his head agreeably. "They did mention something about unrest."

"Yeah—the war," I say. "But they didn't tell us anything about it."

"Right," he says. "They must know the power of information."

I slow to a stop at an empty corner and turn to face him with crossed arms, while the bustle continues on around us. "What do you mean?" I ask quietly.

His brow flickers secretively as he looks about us, and steps closer, narrowing his eyes. "Well think about it," he says in a low, smooth tone, tilting his head to the side as he turns, and peers down at me intently. I don't think he's ever stood this close to me, and I can practically feel the energy and heat radiating off of him.

He continues softly, "Some fragile creature appears in your world, at the cusp of some discord, and you believe that it can help—are you prepared to divulge the death and horror it'd be involving itself with?"

 _Death and horror…_

Tension flickers in my chest, but I'm not entirely sure whether it's from that notion—or him.

I blink, looking up at Loki. "I'm not fragile…" I protest softly.

The corner of his mouth curls amusedly as I glance down at it. "No—of course not," he says sarcastically.

I inhale lightly, looking away. "Okay, well…" I exhale, shifting outward just a bit, creating a bit of distance before my face starts turning red. "All in good time—that's why we're here," I glance to the right, toward the sound of music in the distance, and push off the wall that I'd been leaning on. "Come on, let's see where that music's coming from."

I glance back at him briefly before continuing down the path, where the music grows louder and louder, until it's close enough for the instruments to be discernible. When the path finally comes to an opening, we come to another large courtyard, where a small crowd of people lines the edges—just as we'd seen from my bedroom window. Loki brushes against my backside as he steps between the crowd, and up beside me with crossed arms.

On the far end of the courtyard is a sizable group of musicians, and I look around at the random partnering of two to three individuals, striding into the middle of the courtyard, and dancing to the upbeat, jovial music.

I grin, and a deep, nostalgic warmth simmers in my chest as I observe them dancing, studying the style of movement and appreciating the beautiful garments flying around their bodies—like they were made for this.

Back in time, one class was all it took—one fine arts requirement, and this became a hobby all through undergrad, for my friends and me. "I could get used to this," I mumble quietly.

With his arms crossed, Loki turns and glances at me. "Of everything we've seen—this fascinates you?"

"You've _no_ idea," I say earnestly, shaking my head. "My friends and I did things like this in college—social events and such, it was such a great way to meet people," I pause for a moment, as a dark mental cloud douses my enthusiasm. "While it lasted, anyway…" I mutter.

My voice trails off as Loki nods in acknowledgement. "While it lasted?" he repeats.

"Yeah," I exhale lightly through my nostrils. "I, uh…" I shrug. "I met someone who ruined it for me."

I glance up, seeing Loki's brow rise and fall dramatically. "I see," he says emphatically. "Started with a dance, and became someone's lover, I presume?"

"Well…" I mumble quietly, tilting my head as I stare ahead. "Not willingly."

In the corner of my eye, I see Loki peering at me motionlessly. After a moment, I turn and look up at his expression—completely blank, but thoughtful in its own way.

"It's alright," I shrug again, grinning nonchalantly. "It was a while ago, and he got what he deserved."

The corners of Loki's mouth twist downward as he nods. "So he's dead, then?"

My brows furrow amusedly. " _What?_ " I say laughingly as I look up at him, eyeing his icy, somber expression. "No—he's just gonna have a hard time finding a job when he gets out of jail."

Loki bobs his head slightly in acknowledgment, and his eyes turn downward for a moment. "I wonder if you considered going back to it?" he continues, looking back up at me.

I nod. "Yeah, I did actually. After a while," I sigh heavily. "But, New York wasn't really the same by the time I made up my mind."

Loki pauses.

"New York?" he mutters quietly.

"Yeah," I nod. "It's a city on the other side of the country where I live. I moved there for school, and lived just outside it for a while. Then we had these bizarre terrorist attacks—left half the city in ruins," I pause. "And it just wasn't the same after that. I moved to Los Angeles a year later."

"Were you…" his voice trails off for a moment. "There? When it happened?"

"No," I shake my head. "I was in traffic that day, outside of town. First time I was ever felt grateful for it."

Loki pauses as the music stops. "I see," he continues. "Did they… Apprehend the culprit?" he asks, as the crowd begins to shift.

"No," I shake my head. "At least, not that I know of. They pointed a lot of fingers, but that was it. Usually someone takes the 'glory' when these things happen," I look up at him. "But no one did. Not that it's surprising, they would've had the whole damn world and the Avengers on their trail."

"Ah, yes…" Loki purses his lips into a tight smile. "The Avengers."

"You've heard of them?" I look up at him.

"All too much," he says matter-of-factly. "I have a brother among them."

My eyes widen. "Seriously? Which one?"

"Thor."

"Thor?!" I exhale sharply. "Oh, I hear he's the nicest guy," I smile, shaking my head. "Such a small world, isn't it? Er, worlds. Were you ever one of them?"

Loki pauses. "One of the Avengers?"

"Yeah," I nod.

Loki's lips thin into a smile as he continues staring ahead. After his moment, his throat bobs up and down, and a deep chuckle rises in his throat.

I smile, catching some of the amusement. "What? What is it?"

"If you knew the irony…" he croaks in a low, laughing voice.

"Well tell me," I nudging his arm. "Maybe I'll laugh too!"

He turns his head to the side and peers down at me with a smile. "Let's just say that I don't get along with my brother, and leave it at that—I'd prefer discussing why you never kept on dancing."

I narrow my eyes amusedly for a moment. "Well alright," I croon. "I mean, it just didn't feel the same. But to be honest, I'm starting to remember how much fun I had doing _this_ ," I nod at the courtyard.

" _Excuse me_ ," says a voice to my right. I blink, turning my head sharply toward a group of three, tall figures standing beside us. "Forgive me," says the second tallest. "I couldn't help but overhear—but I'm actually looking for a partner for the next song, if you're willing?"

I narrow my eyes amusedly, as the second friend runs a hand over the bottom half of his face, restraining a laugh as he looks between us both—while the third one merely stands and peers at us intently, waiting for my answer. My eyes pass over them individually, until they land on the one standing closest to me, waiting patiently to see if I'll agree. Not exactly polite to interject on people's conversations like this, but… Well, I know that look.

It's a dare.

I could recognize it from a mile away—because we used to do it too. In fact, we made a sport out of it—and I'll be damned to rain on someone else's parade.

I cock my head to the side with a broad, sultry smile, and lean forward. "I don't know—think you can handle it?" I ask in a honeyed tone, widening my eyes, as his friends smile aptly with surprise and amusement.

The young man chuckles nervously. "Well," he shrugs, holding a hand out. "Only one way to find out?"

I look down at his hand, and take it. "Why not?"

" _I can think of a reason,_ " Loki whispers harshly as he leans toward me.

Ignoring Loki's protest, I let him guide me over to the center of the courtyard. Probably shouldn't—probably not the best idea… But what's life without a little fun?

At the center of the courtyard, I look up at my green-eyed partner as I step in place before now. Now my heart's beginning to race—while the quick, folk-like music starts again. In a quick reflex, he throws a hand to my waist, and I reach up and grab his other hand with my own.

He prefers to lead—that much is obvious to me immediately, and I let him spin and pull me around with quick, skilled reflexes to the sound of the music. It takes him a moment or two to give me room and way to start using his body as a leverage to throw _myself_ around.

The music slowly starts to pick up—and in my quick glances around the courtyard, a see the multitude of people turning and clapping enthusiastically to the beat as well. Two other couples that were dancing around us have slowly moved to the edges and begun clapping for us as well—and with a quick step and turn, my partner pulls me close, and we make brisk spins in place, lapping around the courtyard.

For a moment, I'm struck abliss with the lightness of every movement, and every brush of air against my skin. My body is dancing, and my heart is dancing with it—a bright reminder of why I loved this so damn much. A brand of magic all on its own.

The band that was keeping my hair tied flies off with a sharp spin, and my long, curly hair bounces and flies around my torso as I let the freedom sweep me away into a state of forgetfulness and stupor—just like it always has.

The musicians playing horned instruments let out three loud explosions, and the song ends abruptly with a high note—with me and my partner turning and spinning outward with one last twist, linked only by our hands in our final pose.

Claps and cheers break out from the crowd, and the lightness in my chest explodes with laughter. I look over and see that even Loki seems to have let go of his disapproval temporarily, and is grinning warmly at me where I left him.

I turn back to my partner once more, as he takes my hand and smiles. "You're the best partner I've ever had," he says.

"Well thank you," I cock my head to the side. "You're not too bad, yourself."

He laughs, and my cheeks flush as I let him pull me forward, and plant a small kiss on my cheek. We turn and walk in roughly the same direction, as everyone in the crowd turns and continues on conversing—save for our company.

"What was your name again?" he asks, and I turn my head up to him—seeing other couples pairing up to dance for the next song in the corner of my eye.

"Oh, my name is—" I pause. "Lara."

"Lara," he repeats with a friendly grin, and reaches out to shake my hand. "My name is Clevance."

I take it. "Well, it was a pleasure to meet you," I say sweetly with a parting tone, and bob my head once before inching away from him. I look up at Loki's slightly dour expression, and am glad to see that he took the hint, and is moving along the courtyard in the same direction.

"So much for not drawing attention to ourselves…" he mutters as he approaches.

I grin contentedly. "Well in thirty years, I might forget everything else—but I'm definitely going to remember that," I glance over at the other end of the courtyard, where the path continues onward. "Now let's go, before they try to—"

I stop mid-sentence, swaying at a sudden jolt in the earth. I look up at Loki, who has both hands up at his sides, steadying himself with widened eyes.

" _What was that?_ " he utters, and meets my gaze for a moment before a sudden boom in the distance draws both our attention.

We turn sharply, in time to see several small clouds of smoke rising up from the distance, on the other side of the throne tree. My hands shoot up to my ears to cover the sound of several more blasts, and Loki steps closer to me as the crowd starts darting around in opposite directions all around us.

My eyes jump from one terrified face to the other as they pass by us, until I see a sizable notch between two of the stands—large enough to hide in while we figure out what's gone.

"Loki!" I grab his arm. His head snaps in my direction, and I beckon him to follow as I release his sleeve and run toward it.

With the speed I'm darting at across the courtyard, I practically crash into the wooden pole at the front part of the stand, snapping back immediately to avoid a troop of soldiers sprinting past me on the path. I look up into the sky, seeing that the usually flurry of spaceships has drawn away—with other ships flying in from the direction of the black sand fields.

These ships are different though—they're smaller, uniform, and there's a hell of a lot more of them. If that wasn't enough to seem menacing, I now realize where the explosions were coming from—them. And their guns.

I turn and face Loki as he slides to a stop in front of me and straightens up. With a sharp exhale and wave of his hand, our appearances return to normal with a flash of light—along with the suits we had when we first came here. I'm back in my dark leather suit, and Loki's armor has returned as well. With my backside against the pole, I turn and look up in the direction of the fleet.

With mere inches between us, Loki places a hand on the pole above my head, and leans over the edge. His breath is barely reaching the side of my face, and both our gazes are drawn upward by the fleet of ships sprawling quickly throughout the sky.

" _Shit_ ," I mutter, looking back at Loki. "I wonder if Olen's looking for me right now…"

"I doubt that," he says in a low, quiet voice, peering tensely at the sky. "He's got bigger problems."

My hair sifts against the pole as I flip my head back against it. "Discord, Loki," I mumble breathlessly, and face him again. "I'm the creature. He wanted my help—so he must've thought that I could do something, right?"

He furrows a brow, looking down at me. "Like what?"

"I don't know," I whisper, shaking my head. "I don't know—"

Loki looks toward a flash of light that suddenly glimmers in the corner of his eye, and sharp agitation explodes across his face as he grabs my arm abruptly. I hardly get the chance to gasp before he yanks me to the side and pivots—shielding me from the beam of light hitting the ground behind us, and bursting with a small explosion. I shut my eyes tightly as heat and debris blows past us, barely scraping against the edges of my body left uncovered by Loki's. His head inches up at the settling air, and I open my eyes slowly as his grip loosens around me.

A familiar darkness fills my vision.

I lift my eyes slowly up toward Loki's face—seeing the thin, silvery strings of light shaping his form up close. I inhale sharply as I stare at them, watching as they shimmer and pull with the slightest movement. I watch him motionlessly for a moment, until it catches his attention, and his form peers down at me.

"What?" the strings move as his voice pours out, and I feel his breath against me as he speaks.

My lips part slowly with amazement as I peer closely at him. I reach up slowly with my right hand, and brush three fingers around the strings that form his angular jaw, still feeling the roughness of his skin against mine. The strings shudder at my touch, and his breathing pauses as my fingers trail over the edge. I look up over his shoulder—at the collection of lights flying around in the sky.

" _Lara?_ " he says softly. "What are you doing?"

My eyes slowly lower to the ground, as I step back from Loki's figure—feeling slightly dazed. With careful steps, I navigate over pieces of the rubble glowing dim and hot with energy, and watch as it throbs with my approach.

I look down at my right hand—at the shard glowing brightly from beneath my skin. The light waxes and wanes as I get closer and further from other glowing strings and objects, until I finally step out into the clearing of the pathway, centered on top of the mound of dirt created by the explosion.

Multitudes of strings web throughout the metropolis, and follow them slowly as I turn toward the throne tree, where my eyes land on a massive structure far beyond it—a radiant pillar of strings extending down from the sky, and disappearing over the distant horizon.

The sound of beaming weapons and distant screams draws my attention back, and an invisible wind loosens the strands of hair over my face as I look up at the assailing spaceships. Bursts of hot, radiating energy explode from each vessel, and shoots down toward the ground as glowing figures bolt past me on either side.

My eyes drop toward the sound of a screaming woman—and there, down the path, I see her form moving toward me. An arm appears on my shoulder, followed by Loki's voice calling out to me. My hand throbs as I watch the strings glow brightly in her chest for a moment, dying down as three hot flashes burst through her body from behind—from the hand of the figure she'd been running from.

Streams of heat course through my arm, and I pull away from Loki sharply, and a pile of glowing rubble suddenly flies away from us with the sudden movement. The figure turns in our direction, startled by the unexpected sound, and raises an arm toward us.

With a quick impulse, my hand flies up, and pressure massages the length of my arm as all the strings around it bend according with my movement. My fingers curl inward, grasping an invisible force, and the strings twist responsively around the figure's body, until it cries out with a sudden snap, and drops to the ground. All my energy abruptly drains from every limb, and I sway slightly.

Two hands grab my shoulders to steady me. "Lara," I hear Loki's voice, feel his body against my backside as I fall into it in a heavy daze. "We have to go," he mutters sharply, and I turn over against him to the right, taking his arm in my hand to help myself stay upright.

My gaze drifts to the assailing figure lying on the ground, and I watch intently the web of light leaves him slowly. My eyes follow the strings as they rise up slowly into the sky, where bursts of light and flying vessels continue darting about in my vision—with pressure tugging at my hand with every movement. I push back against Loki's figure as I steady myself on my feet, and look down at my hand—at the glowing halo of light surrounding it.

And… I feel it. The warmth, the light, the movement… I think I finally understand.

The energy, the light—it's our life. That's why it's a web, because it's all connected. And these flickers of pressure is our movement through space, the transfer of energy. My eyes rise slowly to the sky as an idea appears in my mind—a long shot, I'd say, but if I'm right…

" _If I'm right_ …" I hear myself mumble.

"Right about _what_? Lara—" Loki scowls, and doesn't wait for me to respond before tightening his grip and turning me sharply. Somewhere in the rotation, everything in my vision fades back to normal. Including Loki's face, as he leans toward me with a harrowed expression. "We can talk about this later—right now we have to go."

"Loki," I breathe out, as I lift a hand up to the notch between his shoulders and neck.

Loki shakes his head briskly, brows crinkled with confusion. " _What_?"

My hands slides off his shoulder as I quickly step around him. With a heaving chest, I narrow my eyes intently, focusing on the fleet above us. Slowly but surely, webs of light become discernible against the towering branches. Some rising, falling, twisting and meeting inside the aircrafts. Exactly where I need them. And every single pilot is what I'm after—a collection of life and energy, coming together in space.

I raise my right hand slowly with my left one just behind it. My fingers curl slightly as I focus on the invisible pressure, with it pulling and tugging more and more aggressively at my hand, as my focus grows more keen. With one sharp exhale, I tense every muscle in my body, and bear down on the pressure with a tight grasp, until it stops moving.

With a series of crashing sounds and motors whirring, every pilot in the sky is frozen—frozen and likely dead, from forcible impact with the interior of the moving vessels.

Sweat runs down the side of my face as heat builds against my skin. The aircrafts tremble as I step back, and with a sharp exhale, I tighten my right hand into a ball, and pull with every ounce of strength that I have left. I cry out agonizingly as I pivot in the other direction, pulling the weight of the entire fleet, and collapse onto one knee—gasping sharply as relief floods into every muscle that relaxes.

The fleet rains down from the skies with heavy crashes, though there's barely any energy left in my body to react to them—not even a flinch. Until finally, after several moments, the bustling discord suddenly falls into deafening silence.


	6. Chapter 6: The Boy Who Cried and Lied

Fight, damn it… Got to fight it. Fight my own damn body. I can't pass out, not now—not like this. I won't.

My fingers slide against the dirt as I sway back and forth for a moment, trying to steady myself—and not throw up. I look up at Loki, amidst the few people standing dispersedly, and staring down at me. I watch them step away reluctantly, recoiling at my slightest movement as I try to lift myself up—while Loki steps over to my side.

He kneels in front of me, peering down with a solemn look as he grasps both my shoulders and lifts me up. "Are you alright?" he asks quietly, leaning over to meet my eyes.

"Yeah, I…" I pause, regaining my composure. "Loki, the stone—I… I think I know where it is."

All movement ceases for a moment as Loki narrows his eyes, processing the information. "Alright," he nods. "But let's talk about it later—not here."

I bob my head in agreement, parting my lips to speak. Though before a sound can manage to rise in my throat, four large, metal spikes send tremors through the earth, plunging into the ground around us with terrible force, and caging us in the middle of the path. My pulse shoots upward as my eyes dart from side to side—trying to summon all halves of my brain to figure out what's going on, and what to do with the rest of my body, to avoid being impaled. A cylinder of dust kicks up suddenly between the stands ahead, drawing my gaze back over to the path—where a large ship materializes slowly in the air. It takes a moment to realize that it resembles the ships from the fleet, and dread accompanies the fear in my chest as I watch it descend down to the ground, inch by inch.

Loki steps in front of me, eyeing the ship and saying nothing as people continue to scurry past us. The ship finally begins to hover with a hiss, and a pair of round, sliding doors rotate open at its front. I squint—trying to see what's inside, but hardly anything is visible from the height it's at. Save for the blinding lights—and finally, a cloaked figure contrasting against them as it slowly emerges. With a subtle click, a ramp slides out from a hidden component beneath the entryway and slides to the ground, allowing the hooded figure to stride over it—with the hood covering everything but a pair of pale, thin lips.

"Not ominous at all…" I murmur quietly as it steps down to the ground.

With a wave of the figure's hand, Loki flies from my side between the metal spikes, and crashes into one of the stands. I turn my head sharply, trying to find him in the rubble as white-hot nervousness bleeds back into my chest. My eyes dart to the figure as the spikes suddenly dissipate into thin air—as if they were never there to begin with.

"Who are you?" I growl at the figure.

He continues to stalks toward me, fingers curled amusedly in the air, "My name," the figure purrs, with a voice split into multitude of pitches that seem to echo in my mind. I slide a foot backward as it steps in front of me—ready to jump away. "Is Seron."

The voice smooths into a soft, stable tone—matching the eerily bright pair of beady, violet eyes peering darkly at me from beneath the hood.

Seron…

I know the name, but no—it can't be.

The first bearer of the god stone was a creature born of the dark realms… Olen's voice threads across my thoughts. Absorbing Soren's armies, along with the life force from his body, was a feat that the bearer could not withstand…

Heat and color melt from my face. "Seron?" I mutter, forcing the sound out of my tense throat. "Seron is—"

"Dead," he interjects, holding my gaze as his head tilts slightly to the side. "That's what you told everyone, wasn't it?" An unsettling hint of admiration resonates in his tone. And with the intensity of his gaze, I'd bet he caught the subtle shake of my head.

"Actually, that's what everyone told me," I respond in a low voice.

Seron steps toward me—eyes locked on mine—and his mouth stretches into a menacing grin. I slide a step back, raising my hand up calmly front of me while I hold his gaze—demanding his eyes stay locked on mine.

"Don't," I say threateningly, trying to maintain my composure—while fear and anxiety take turns tossing and turning inside my chest.

His eyes fall slowly—curiously—down to my palm. "Well," he breathes out, peering intently down at the shard. "And here I thought we might be friends."

A sliver of amusement wisps through my body like electricity. "Am I only one who doesn't think out loud?" I blurt out, and he pauses, glancing up at me pensively. I shake my head. "Doesn't matter—I know what you're after, and you won't find it here."

"Now, why would that be?" his lips twist into a frown. "Come, Lara—"

"How do you know my name?" I interject tightly.

Seron tilts his head, rolling his eyes about the scene demonstrably, and back to me. "One could say I've known about you for a very long time—much longer than you've been alive."

I raise a brow. "What?"

"I've been watching you. For the longest, longest time, I watched over you until the time was right—I'm the reason you're here now."

I shake my head. "No, you're not."

"Yes—I am," he says dryly.

The sheer certainty in his expression is enough to send a chill down my spine—it can't be true, but he damn well believes it is. I glance at Loki, who's barely managed to crawl out of the rubble, and is peering at us quietly from the side—listening with a calculative expression. I look back up at Seron, keeping my mouth shut tightly.

"That's not possible," I say darkly, barely moving my lips.

"It is," he nods. "I was there in your room, that night—when you first witnessed the image of the god stone."

It takes an active effort to keep every muscle in my body from clenching up in disgust, but I raise a brow—keeping an icy mask of calm on my face. "Not creepy at all…" I mumble under my breath.

Seron lets out a breathy chuckle, stepping forward as I step back. "Call it what you will, but yes—I brought you that vision. I gave you the initiative. The rest was up to you, of course."

"I don't believe you," I say, cocking my head toward him. "How the did I end up on Asgard then, if the stone didn't send me there? And the voice I heard—"

"Was my voice—guiding you," he tilts his head as he pulls back the edges of his cloak, revealing the tesseract in his right hand. For a moment, my eyes fill with the pale blue tint of the its light.

So that's where that went... My eyes trail over to Loki for a moment, glancing over him as he steps closer to us quietly from behind.

"If that's true," I blink, looking back at Seron. "Then you must have brought me here to find you the stone, didn't you? You can't find it on your own."

Seron grins assentingly, and his boots slide across the gravel as he stalks about me. "I wonder why you think the god stone chose you, Lara?" he says slowly—I sigh at the continued monologuing. "You and I—we're cut from the same cloth, and that is why I'm here—why we're both here. I would like to make you an offer."

I raise a brow, tilting my head slightly. "Oh, I bet you would," I grumble. "What kind of offer?"

"The kind you'll want to take if you wish to return home—to your normal, ordinary life," he raises the tesseract slightly. "I'll give you this, as long as you agree to bring me the stone."

I glance down at the cube in his hand, and then back up at him. "So—you want a trade," I say. "I thought only the 'living bearer' could wield the god stone."

"Bearers," he says, and his voice softens into a solemn pitch as he peers down at me attentively with a raised brow. "As I said—you and I are the same."

I hold his gaze for a moment, giving my brain a moment to assess the situation—the information being fed to me. I look over to the left, at Loki, and then to the right—at the broken shops and hidden faces peering fearfully at us from behind the corners. Finally, my eyes trail upward, to the suspended clouds of twisting smoke rising over the metropolis—remnants of the chaos and destruction that Seron had caused, which I suspect it wouldn't be the end, if I let him go.

And there it is—the simple answer. I look back down at his pale face, laden with some contented expression—like he knows what my obvious response should be.

"No."

He frowns suddenly—lowering his chin. "No?"

I shrug sarcastically, shaking my head. "Nah."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a faint grin tugging on the corner of Loki's mouth.

Seron pulls back the tesseract—slowly. "Are you really so sure about that?" he asks flagrantly, shaking his head. "This is your only way home."

Dread weighs my expression downward slightly as I narrow my eyes at him—trying to focus the strings glowing around his body, as I curl my fingers slightly against the pressure.

"I'm sure."

With a sharp tug, I pull at the strings with my right hand. Seron tilts his head annoyedly as they pass straight through him—without the slightest ripple. My throat caves in with shock as I watch the strings blow past him, leaving a soft tickle against my loosened hand. My eyes dart back to him—while Loki trails along the edge of the path in the corner of my eye, creeping up slowly with a dagger in his hand.

Seron shakes his head slowly. "I'm afraid that's not going to work," A nervous lump rises in my throat as he raises his free hand out beside him, turning his head toward Loki. "And neither will that," he scowls sharply. Loki stops, completely frozen.

An impulse flashes across Seron's expression, prompting me to step forward. "Don't-" I growl, and my voice pours out like a hot, blistering tar.

Seron turns his head toward me—holding my gaze, and standing perfectly still.

His eyes suddenly widen. "Oh—is he dear to you?" he croons, curling his fingers again. "Well, then how about a different offer—"

"No-" I hiss, and my shoulders tense aggressively—knowing exactly what he's about to say. "Touch him and I end you."

Anger roils in my chest—while in the corner of my eye, Loki's eyes snap toward me. Seron's amused grin twists into a contemplative smile as he lowers his arm, and snaps it suddenly in my direction. A low, rumbling noise hums in my ears as an invisible pressure suddenly twists around my neck and torso, forcing the air out of my lungs. Tears pool in my eyes at the excruciating pain that radiates through me—as if every single organ in my body is being twisted, turned, and pulled to the point of snapping. With a quick vibration that blurs the edges of his body, Seron appears before me—wrapping his cold, electrifying fingers just under my jaw, and lifting me up.

I couldn't breathe even if I wanted to, and I struggle to fight the pain as I look over his shoulder at Loki—who also seems to be overtaken, and driven to his knees by the same force that's holding my body hostage. I fight with every ounce of will that I have to move, only managing to get a small swing in my legs.

"You will tell me where it is, Lara," Seron growls. "Or this," he tightens his gip. "Will be his end."

Loki. My heart tightens as I watch him struggle to look back in my direction, his face contorting violently with the same pain tormenting me. I'd been taking freedom for granted—freedom to even want to run and help him now—now, when every instinct in my body is fixed on simply breathing… I just can't think of anything else. I need to breathe….

With a snap of willpower, I reach up with my right hand to grab the arm that's holding me up. Seron grins as my hand passes through it, and there's hardly any room left in my chest for shock—only pain. I wince, feeling the faint tickle of tears streaming down my cheeks, blurring the sight of the strings jerking and snapping accordingly with my panic—panic ensuing with complete and utter helplessness.

Pressure tugs and presses against my palm as it falls back to my side, and the strings tighten slightly around it—pushing it about slightly in the air. Brisk air passes swiftly between my fingers as I near the loss of consciousness, until an idea finally comes.

I close my eyes tightly, focusing the last of my thoughts and energy. I open them slowly to Seron's violet eyes, seeing the strings pass between us both, creeping along my skin as they spiral tightly around my limbs—around my neck. Warmth spreads under his palm, filling the minute space between us, as air slowly begins to pass into my throat again. Seron's brows crinkle angrily with confusion as I send more strings toward Loki. Relief pours over his expression immediately—allowing some of the tension in my chest to disperse—while space opens further and further in my throat.

I look back down at Seron. "You were wrong," I croak, clenching my fists at my side and narrowing my eyes darkly at him. "We're not the same."

With a quick impulse, I throw my hands out to my sides, palms open, and the strings glow brightly against my skin as they pull me back up into the air. The rushing wind blows my hair up over my shoulders as I descend backward—down to the level of the shops—feeling the threads of energy tightening around my ankles, and slowing my momentum until I'm held suspended in the air.

I look up, toward the sound of footsteps breaking the silence that ensues for a moment. Olen's face appears behind them both, along with a troop of guards. Steam blows downward onto them as they thread underneath the space between the ship and the path, and Olen stops abruptly in the moment that he sees me—looking between myself, Seron, and Loki.

I sigh. "About goddamn time!" I call out tautly—still hanging over the rooftops.

Olen's mouth tightens as he peers up at me. He opens it slightly, but only a sharp breath escapes his lips before a sudden movement draws both our eyes to Seron. We lock eyes briefly, and I revel inwardly at his dour expression—before all traces of him and his ship dissipate with a flash of light.

Everyone stands frozen in place for a moment—looking around briskly for signs of movement. Myself included, until I finally lower my hands down to my sides, allowing the strings to loosen enough for me to descend fully down to the ground.

"Spread out," Olen calls out, turning toward one of his guards sharply in conversation.

I make briskly toward Loki as soon as I touch down, and anxiety grips my chest once more as I get close to him—looking over him for signs of pain or injury.

Loki peers straight at me as I approach him. "Are you alright?" I ask breathlessly, trying to meet his eyes.

He nods slightly, and shrugs a shoulder. "A bit disappointed," he says, straightening his leather. "But otherwise fine."

I tilt my head. "Disappointed?"

His eyes soften for a brief instant, as he smiles and exhales sharply. "Well," he says wryly, and the corner of his mouth curls. "You didn't end him."

I blink, and turn sharply without so much as a word or adverse reaction. I stalk toward Olen—still hearing the sound of Loki's breathy chuckle behind me, and trying not to let it affect the color in my cheeks.

Meanwhile, Olen turns to face me as soon as he hears my steps. "Lara," he says. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," I nod, gesturing to where Seron had been standing. "So apparently, that was—"

"Seron," Olen interrupts grimly, and I pause—peering up at him slowly.

I pause. "Wait, you—you knew who that was?"

He nods. "Unfortunately."

My lips part angrily, while my eyes begin to narrow—proportionally with the anger rising in my chest.

"How?" I ask flatly.

Olen blinks, studying my expression for a moment before raising a hand exhaustively. "Not here. Let's talk with my father."

He turns away from me, and something inside me snaps at the sight of his backside facing me—dismissing me. If not for Loki grabbing my shoulder from behind, I'd have probably assaulted him right here and now. I guess I'll have to grit my teeth instead. 

* * *

Neither Olen nor the yellow-eyed king seem to have many questions for me. None outside the flavorful topic of how and when these new abilities manifested. My trust for them both couldn't possibly be more dissolved, so I give them a vague recounting of everything that happened—while dim, ambient light passes through the broad windows of the large, mid-tree parliamentary hall. Including the pillar of light I'd seen over the horizon—limited to its exact location.

"I believe that's where the stone is," I say, and my voice echoes as I sit cross-legged atop the titanium table that runs the length of the grandiose hall. Neither of them seemed terribly thrilled to see me do it, but that was intentional—though Loki seemed to find my retaliation rather laughable.

It's been quite the endeavor otherwise, to keep my temperament under control—while they discuss the 'implications' of the god stone's power, and its use against Seron.

"Well," Olen says, crossing his arms contentedly with a nod. "We'll need to go after it."

"Oh no, I'll go after it myself," I say calmly, tilting my head. "But first you're going to give me some answers—except this time, you're not going to hold back. Do you know why?" I ask in a honeyed tone and pause, allowing Olen and the king to stare back at me confusedly for a moment—likely sensing the aggression rising in my voice.

"Because," I continue matter-of-factly. "First you lied to me about the shard, and then I had my organs played with like a toy by someone you told me was dead. So now, the only the person who can find the stone is really pissed at you."

Loki exhales sharply, drawing my eyes toward him for a moment—toward the sight of him chuckling lightly under his breath, as he runs a hand over his mouth.

Still smiling, I roll my eyes back to Olen. "Tell me what you know about Seron," I demand dryly.

Olen purses his lips slightly, as his chest rises and falls with an exhaustive sigh. "He's not dead."

"Yeah, I figured that much," I say. "You didn't think that was an important piece of information to share with me?"

Silence.

"We didn't know," Olen says, shutting his mouth tightly.

I peer at him from a moment, feeling my temperament rise. I blink, looking away with a heavy sigh—and wave a hand annoyedly through the air, summoning the strings to wrap around their bodies, holding them still and silent. Loki raises a brow, glancing at them from the side with an amused grin.

"You know," I say solemnly as I lean forward—lowering my hand slowly with a finger pointed toward them. "You're lucky it's not just the two of you. You're lucky there's a whole world of people here outside of you. Because if there wasn't, with how much you've been lying to me, I'd leave you here to deal with this alone—and die," my voice drops emphatically.

"But the thing is," I continue in a fruity tone, glancing to the side. "I couldn't figure it out at first… You've had absolutely no reason to lie to me so much—so it took me a moment to figure out why you'd do it," I pause, hardening my gaze at Olen. "And now I'd like to know—what did Seron offer you for the stone?" I turn a finger in the air—releasing him. "Talk."

Olen lets out a cough as he drops both hands on the table, propping himself up on it, and peering darkly at me. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Tsk. I shake my head, waving my fingers demonstrably—tightening my power around him again. "I could do this all day, Olen," I say lightly, releasing him once more. "Let's not make this harder than it needs to be."

He exhales sharply, looking off to the side—seemingly to avoid eye contact. I release the threads from the king as well and raise a brow, feigning patience as I lean over slightly.

"We…" he mumbles. "We were outnumbered, and… he told us he'd leave. That the war would be over, and no one else would have to die."

"And you believed him," I say, raising a brow.

"What choice did I have?" Olen turns, scowling at me. "We had no choice. We couldn't possibly defeat him. No one can."

"I can," I say solemnly, and a weight drops in my chest as soon as the words are out. As soon as the belief that I thought that everyone had misplaced, finds a new place of its own—in me.

"You?" he scoffs, speaking in a heavy tone that finally—finally—feels genuine. "You crippled at the sight of your own bloodied hand, and you think you can defeat him!?"

Hurt winces in my chest as I peer back at his agitated expression. "Well," I say quietly. "With or without your crap, I'm still going to try."

Loki's gaze trails over to me slowly, and the yellow-eyed king looks up at Olen.

"Son," he says in a low voice—also adopting a newly authentic tone. "Enough… No more of this."

Olen looks down at him. "What?" he hisses.

The king looks up at him exhaustively once more, and sighs. "This was a great betrayal to the stone," he mumbles gravely. "For the sake of our people. But now we have another option," he turns to me. "And she deserves a chance."

I peer at him for a moment, while Olen throws a hand up protestingly. "I don't think that—"

"Oh what choice do you have, honestly?" I interrupt, crinkling my brows at him. "You think I'd ever give you the stone, now that I know the truth?"

Olen turns his head back toward me, mouth hanging open frustratedly.

I look down at the king, "I'll help if you still want me to. But I'm doing this either way, because this is bigger than either of you. Or me. So I'm going—with him," I look up at Loki, meeting his pale, blue eyes that've been watching us contemplatively this entire time. "And no one else."

He peers at me softly as I slide off the table, and straighten up in front of him. "If you want to, that is…" my words trail off as I let a shoulder rise and drop, and a tender nervousness flickers in my chest.

A grin tugs on the corner of Loki's mouth. "Wouldn't miss it," he says in a low, soothing tone that makes me smile.

"Where do you need to go?" the king asks, and I turn away from Loki—toward him.

I part my lips slightly for a moment, considering whether I should tell him the truth. "We're headed toward the black sand fields," I say—offering a slice of the truth.

He peers at me contemplatively—likely realizing the tactic—and nods. "And when will you return?"

I inhale slowly, glancing at the table momentarily as I consider it. "Not too long, I think. Maybe a few days."

"Very well," the king nods, sliding the chair back, and lifting himself up to face me. "Come—we will inform the guard, and they will provide vehicles and weapons for the journey."

"Father—" Olen steps forward.

"Enough," the king turns sharply, with a raucous tone that finally lends itself to his authority. "No more entrustment—no more lies. We will discuss this later, with your brother," he turns back to me and nods. "Let's go."

The king strides past us commandingly. I turn and look back at Olen's rattled faced one last time, before following after him with Loki beside me—across the hall, and out.

[to be continued]


	7. Chapter 7: Secrets of the Golden Horns

We set out roughly two weeks later—a lot longer than I thought we'd have to wait. But evidently, many of the ships had either been destroyed, or otherwise occupied with damage control. When the time finally came, our last few days in the city were spent getting some basic training and instruction on how to fly the little ship that was allocated to us.

It's true the king followed through with his promise of setting us up with a sturdy ship that'd get us where we need to go, but that was where his involvement ended—thankfully. He didn't ask too many questions, or make any other requests on our way out. He seemed hopeful though, perhaps hopeful that my loyalty's restored in turn for his aid—or perhaps that it would ensure that he'd never feel the thin slips of thread tightening around his throat again.

And even this early on in our journey, I've made an important discovery—that all spaceships, big and small, are terrifying. They are mortifyingly different from airplanes, which really only move in one direction—forward. Spaceships, however—particularly ones being flown by the God of Mischief—are liable to go forward, backward, and side to side without warning.

"It's all quite the same," Loki says with an amused grin, wrapping his hand around a small lever and dragging it downward—making the ship drop several feet. "Only difference really are the symbols—I wonder how fast this one can go…" his voice trails off.

I groan loudly, my nauseated body sinking further into the leather chair. My eyes roll up to the clear, blue sky, over the spread of glowing shapes and buttons flickering across the bright, titanium-looking dash in front of me.

"Well don't do that," he says, glancing at me for a moment. "I need you still—you're navigating us, remember?"

I drag my eyes down to his profile, turning my head slowly as my body remains half-melted into the chair. "Need me? Hard to tell by the way you're encouraging vomit-induced asphyxiation."

His grin stretches a bit with a quiet chuckle. "Oh I would never," he says in a bright tone, raising the lever back and returning his hand to the steering helm.

My hair slides against the leather as I tilt my head—furrowing a brow at the sudden cheeriness in his voice. "You seem chipper."

Loki bobs his head to the side, smile stretching further across his cheeks. "Excited to be off on another adventure, I suppose."

I stare at him for a moment, and both corners of my mouth curl downward with an affirming nod. "Good reason I guess," I breathe out, looking drearily up into the sky from under my drooping eyelashes.

Silence passes between us for a moment.

"May I ask you something?" Loki asks.

"Sure."

"When did you realize that Olen had struck that deal?"

A smile tugs on the corner of my lip, and I push up against the chair—straightening myself to where I can see over the dash. "Well I had no idea, actually, until he told me himself," I say with a light exhale. "I knew he was lying to me when he said they had no clue that Seron was back, and that's when the idea came to me. From there, the accusation was a shot in the dark. I had no idea if I was right."

His eyes narrow as he glances in my direction. "So you cast a guess… Quite confidently, I must say."

My lips thin into a cunning smile as I look over at him, waving a hand through the air. "Acting," I say, throwing my right leg demonstrably over my knee.

"Not bad," he says. "Though I recommend wringing his neck a bit more from the start next time. Makes for better cooperation," he says, crinkling his nose. "And you should either be wildly precarious, or circumspect. I personally perform the former, but you've been leaving me with hardly an opportunity to participate."

I shrug. "Maybe, but at least this way, they'll only be dying to kill one of us."

Loki chuckles. "Not with the hell I'd raise if they did," he says, pausing on the last word—while a quick thought flickers across his profile. "But that won't happen anyway—I suspect they'd have already killed you for assaulting the royal family twice over."

"Maybe," I turn my head back toward the dash, looking over at the mountainous horizon—where a towering pillar of light nears us slowly, plunging down amidst the black peaks. I nod in its direction, "We've got that to focus on right now."

"Are we getting close?"

"Yes," I nod, pointing in the general area. "It's right between those peaks, so you should find somewhere near to… park," my voice drops at the word—as the image of a rounded parking space in the middle of a shopping plaza suddenly appears in my mind.

I grin at the thought, as Loki rears the ship behind a nearby peak, and lowers it slowly to the ground below. There's barely enough space for the ship to touch ground without scraping the black, mountainous walls—but it looks like this is the best we're going to get, unless we want to spend a hell of a lot of time walking.

The engine hums as Loki powers down the ship, and the leather chair scrunches underneath me as I get up, and we leave the helm. The back doors open, and the smell of rain and wet asphalt blows past my face immediately, as we stride down the ramp and onto the damp soil. My eyes trail upward over the sharp, ragged edges and corners of the tall, black bodies of rock stretching up into the cloudy sky.

"That way, yes?" Loki asks, pointing in the opposite direction.

"Right," I nod. As soon as the doors are closed behind us, we turn and make our way around the ship, until we've reached the small crevice on the other side that leads further in to the mountain—toward the pillar of light.

The 'path' is rather narrow space, twisting and turning between the walls—often breaking into small piles of black rocks and fissures. I'd hardly call it a path, but it'll have to do.

Loki and I shift about it, taking turns being at the front—depending on who moves faster over the rock—until the individual strings comprising the pillar become visible to me from just around one of the corners. The walls finally open up into a clearing, and I trail along the edge of the pillar, looking down confusedly at the sight of the strings passing straight through the earth.

"What is it?" Loki asks, stepping up beside me, following my gaze to the ground.

"It's…" I raise my hands to my hips, trying to formulate the sentence. "Down there."

"Down there—as in, it's underground?"

I nod. "I think so—they're going down there, but… I've never seen them go through the ground like this."

Loki's brow rises inquisitively as he turns his eyes around and upward, looking for signs of what I'm describing. "Well I suppose I means we ought to look for a way inside—or start digging."

"Yes," I say earnestly, reaching out to the pillar and brushing my fingers against the strings, before plopping my arm back down to my side. "There's got to be something around here—I'll look over there."

"Alright," I hear him mumble as I trail off to the right.

The perimeter of the opening reveals nothing—no hole or crevice for us to pass through. And after thirty minutes of wandering the outer areas, another smaller opening catches my attention—just beyond a small, tight section of the path. My feet shuffle against the ground as I wedge myself carefully between the walls, coming out along the edge of a large fissure in the ground, enclosed by the roots of the mountains.

I call out to Loki before lowering myself down to the first platform, looking about at the edges of the tunnel, growing more and more black as it descends further away from the ambient daytime.

"What is it?" I hear his strained voice passing through the crevice I'd gone through.

"I found something!" I yell back, and my voice echoes off the walls.

Finally he appears from behind one of the walls, and looks straight down at me—inside the fissure. "Down there, then?" He ask with a nod.

"I think so," I say, turning back down to it, and lowering myself down onto the next platform. But the deeper I go, my apprehension grows onward—onward down this large pit of a hole.

With Loki behind me, my body bends and contorts with the edges as I crawl and stretch across the rock for some while, until it finally widens into a slightly larger tunnel—leading further and further into the ground, and curving slightly in the direction of the pillar. The sound of our movements resonates against the cold walls, and with the last bit of light behind us, every breath feels thinner with the growing staleness. I look over at Loki—straightening up beside me as we reach the part of the tunnel that's finally tall enough for us to stand upright.

"You alright?" I ask, looking up at his expression of sharp discontentment.

"Yes," he nods with a light exhale, lifting his hand as a small, glowing device materializes in it. "And I think we'll need this now."

I look down at it—a small, circular knob of bright, glowing light.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Exactly what it looks," he says, materializing one more in his other hand, and offering it to me.

I reach out and take it slowly, pausing as I feel the warmth of energy against my fingers. "Alien flashlight," I grin, lifting it slightly. "Got it."

Loki turns his head in the direction of the tunnel. In the pale, blue glow of the devices, I see his eyes narrow thoughtfully as he peers into the blackness. "Do you know where you're going down here?" He asks.

I wipe the grin off my expression, returning my composure as I stare into the blackness with him. "Honestly, no—but as far as everything goes… It makes sense to just follow the tunnel, right?" I look up at him. "I mean, why else would it be here?"

"Exactly—seems a bit convenient, doesn't it?" Loki says, and his low voice reverberates softly against the walls.

I pause, eyes falling down to his chest as I consider his words for a moment. "Well… I don't think it's worth thinking about," I say, meeting his eyes. "Whatever we find down here, we'll make it back out just the same."

Loki exhales lightly. "Indeed," he says, practically whispering.

A grin tugs on the corner of my mouth. "What," I ask softly. "Scared of the dark?"

He shakes his head. "No," he says, and I narrow my eyes slightly at the flatness of his tone.

"Are you alright?"

Loki glances at me briefly. "Yes," he says tonelessly, and strides ahead into the darkness.

I pause for a moment, watching the light in his hand get fainter as he walks off. "Alright…" I mumble quietly, before following after him.

After what feels like another thirty minutes of walking, a patch of blackness appears in the ground ahead, with a faint glow that casts no light on the surrounding walls—a telltale signal to me, that we've reached the pillar of light. As we come up to it slowly, I realize that the blackness I'd seen is a great, gaping hole in the ground before us, where the strings are passing through.

My palms moisten as I step up to the edge and look over it—at faint, glimmering twinkles of red and blue light at the bottom. The only sign of light in this otherwise dark, cold underworld.

Loki looks over at me, at my slightly nauseated expression, and chuckles. "Oh, don't tell me…"

I nod slowly. "I'm afraid I'm telling you… It's there."

"How do we even get down there?" he mutters.

Get down there…

I pause.

"I know how I can get down there, but…" I say tautly, pausing for a moment before turning and striding away from the edge. "Nope."

"What?" I hear Loki protest, and his boots shuffle behind me just before his tight grasp reaches my shoulder. "What do you mean 'nope?'"

"I mean, I'm not doing this."

"What?" he pulls me again. "You must—"

"Loki," I interrupt him. "This'll be akin to bungee jumping for me, except if I lose focus for one second—which I'm likely to do when I'm getting half the usual oxygen to my brain and barreling down a pit—I'll fall. And I'll probably die."

"You're not going to die," he says laughingly with a grin.

"What makes you say that?" I ask, letting every ounce of fear and apprehension pour out with my voice.

"Because," he leans forward. "You're strong," his voice falls low, and his left hand suddenly grasps my upper neck and tightens reassuringly. My eyes widen, and despite the chill air, my limbs grow uncomfortably hot underneath the suit, as I feel his breath against my face. "And you want it—that's how I know you'll get it."

A different type of tension tightens in my chest, and my breathing slows abruptly. "No, you don't know that…" I say softly.

Light flickers against Loki's skin as I turn the device over in my hand, and his eyes narrow with intentness as he peers down into my own. "But I I've come to know you well enough," his head tilts downward slowly. "Just the fact that you're still here, doing this… After all the lies that have been fed to you, you're…" he pauses, and a quick thought flashes across his pale, uncertain eyes. "You're many things I wish I could be."

A gentle warmth spreads through my chest, even as I furrow a brow softly at the comment—unsure of whether we're still talking about my ability to not jump into a pit and fall to my death.

I turn my head slowly to the right—toward the hole—and his hand slides down to my collar.

"Okay," I nod, lifting a hand up and placing it over his with a gentle squeeze. "I'll try…"

Loki's parted lips seal tightly with an approving grin, and he holds my gaze for a moment. My breathing stops entirely for a quick heartbeat, as I slide his hand off my shoulder. The touch lingers for a moment until both our hands are extended between us, and I pull away from his slowly and turn, taking a deep breath as the contact ceases.

I turn and stalk toward the edge—reeling over the realization that I've happily spent every minute for the past several weeks with this man, and those simple moments of contact just negated the heavy effects that this darkness had on my heart.

If only for a few seconds.

With another calming inhale, I shake my head and peer at the strings—refocusing my attention. I slide my left foot back against the dirt and lift both hands slowly, willing the strings to expand outward from the middle—and others to slowly thread around my hands and feet.

"Here goes…" I mumble.

Don't think about it, don't think about it… The thought circles through my head several times, and the fifth time around, I force my left foot off the ground, and leap into the chasm.

My hair and cape fly up over me, and my stomach lifts with the weightlessness. I keep my eyes locked on the strings around me as I near the flickering lights, and tighten the strings readily with my mind as I grow near them—allowing them to slow me to a soft stop at the bottom of the pit, just above a veiny web of glowing, metallic veins.

I peer down at them for a moment, lowering myself slowly between the veins—flowing in the same direction as the strings threading through the veins as well. I continue downward until it's time for me to stop, and climb further down myself. The tubes vibrate under my skin as I grab a hold of them, while the throbbing lights illuminate my eyes every couple of seconds, as streams of energy pass through them.

I begin to climb downward, sweating profusely and wiping my clammy hands against the suit every few moments to regain my grip.

Several feet down, a faint, white light becomes visible through the web. As I get closer, the veins begin to disperse, while the strings meet at a single, floating point in the middle of a small pocket of space. And there it is, the stone—floating between two convergences of string. Just outside of reach.

I tug on the strings, which only stretch and bend with the movement, and have no effect on the stone itself.

Damn… Okay, Plan B.

I hook my right leg over the lowest tube that I can get to, wrapping my right ankle around my left leg securely, and let go carefully—reclining my body down toward the brilliant, white gem below. I reach out slowly around the strings, stretching my entire torso, and grab it with my right hand—feeling a rush of energy ripple through my body, and disappear in an instant.

"Whooh," I exhale sharply, hanging for a minute with the stone in my hand—until I realize that it's better placed in my teeth while I climb back up through the web.

The gem clinks as I place it between my teeth, and lift myself back up. At the top, I take it into my hand once more and grip it tightly, allowing the strings to wrap around my hands and feet once more, and pull me back up to the top of the chasm—where I fly over the edge, with Loki to my right, and stumble forward as soon as my feet hit the ground. With a quick motion, he reaches out and stops me.

The impact nearly forces the air out of my lungs as I bend over his arm, inhaling sharply with the stone in my left hand, while my right grips Loki's pauldron.

I blink, sighing deeply—happy to have my feet back on the ground. And Loki… He was right. He was right—I could do it, and I did…

Trust and relief sweep through my body with the momentary embrace, as I grip his shoulder tightly and pull back. I look up to meet his eyes, which instead fall downward to the white, glowing light in my hand—and I instead look straight up at his distracted face.

Is he thinking of…?

The stone suddenly begins to vibrate violently, and my vision explodes into waves of white light and time—fleeting moments of life, etched into the designs of every string in his existence. Loki's form towers before me, while faces and voices spin and flash in my mind, and pressure presses against every inch of my body.

With a quick pulse of energy between us, Loki leans forward with a sharp grunt of pain. The sound disappears faintly as a loud buzzing noise bursts in my ears—complementing the whirling, chaotic sight before me. I close my eyes tightly, trying to regain a bit of control over one of my senses.

"I was a king!" Loki's voice suddenly thunders in my ears, overpowering the rest of the noise.

An unfamiliar feeling of dread, anger and cruel amusement pours through my chest. I don't know how I know, but one thing is certain—it's not from me.

"A king?" A woman's voice suddenly echoes responsively in my ears, and I open my eyes to the sight of a beautiful woman with curly blonde hair, clad in blue and silver robes. Wisps of light and strings thread against each other as she leans slightly with intent, peering in my direction. "A true king admits his faults. What of the lives you took on earth…"

Her voice trails off as the vision fades, spinning and whirling me around into the next moment—where Loki suddenly appears before me, wearing a golden horned helmet, and glancing about panicked to his right.

"Look at this—look around you!" a deep, masculine voice rings, and I follow Loki's eyes to my left—at the sight of burning buildings and explosions, and…

I recognize these buildings, it's…

New York?

Was Loki in New York?

"You think this madness ends with your rule!?" The voice reverberates in my head and melts away as I look on at the chaotic scene of carnage and destruction—while Loki's soft, mellow voice pours into my mind.

"You pretend to be separate, to have your own code," he croons. "Something that makes up for the horrors," his voice pauses for an instant, and my chest tightens painfully at the exclusive view of my home city crumbling—the precipice of so much grief and sorrow that followed. "But they are part of you, and they will never go away."

With a sharp, banging noise, I jump as my eyes bolt back to the figure of Loki before me—arm curled above his head and pressing against an invisible barrier. He looks different—straighter hair, and a face twisted with the rage and cruel delight pounding through my body.

"I won't touch Barton," he growls—not at me, at something or someone behind me. "Not until I make him kill you. Slowly. Intimately. In every way he knows you fear. And then he'll wake just long enough to see his good work, and when he screams I'll split his skull!"

Icy terror grips my chest at the sight of pure, sadistic pleasure in his eyes. I gape, crying out as I push away from him sharply. The stone flies out of my hand, and the vision fades as I fall back onto the ground—Loki against the wall.

The silence is only broken by the sound of us both panting—myself in fear and shock.

"What…" he breathes out sharply, turning his head up to me. "Was that…"

I look up at him slowly—quietly—in horror, while a deep, fearful ache spreads through my chest.

As our breathing slows, the silence hardens around us once more.

"You.." I whisper breathlessly. "You were in New York…"

The confusion fades from his eyes slowly—replaced by a look of subtle shock and doubt.

"What?"

The word flies out of his mouth in disbelief—without a hint of denial or reassurance.

Even in the faint darkness of the tunnel, my eyes blur slightly as tears well up in the bottom of my eyelids. "You…. You were there, you…" I say breathlessly. "Did you do it?"

Still leaning against the wall, Loki's body visibly stiffens as he gazes at me. And the look on his face says it all. He knows what I saw—what I know—and… He doesn't look sorry.

My eyes trail slowly down to the stone, glinting softly between us. My eyes dart back up at him—and his at mine—and his expression hardens with sharp reprisal.

"Don't," his voice pours out. "This isn't the place for either of us to die."

This isn't the place… This isn't the place!?

"Is that what it was?" My low voice trembles with every word—with the sting of realization and betrayal. "Is that what you were thinking before? Whether or not you'd have to kill me down here?"

"I…" he shakes his head slightly, his doubtful eyes darting between me and the stone with uncertainty. Acceptance and vague decisiveness finally fill them as they land reluctantly on the stone for a moment, before rising back up to me. "I'm sorry…" he whispers, and bolts toward the stone.

In a quick impulse, I lunge toward it, capturing it under my palm. Power surges through me once again— and outward with a sharp explosion, that forces Loki back against the wall.

I scramble quickly to my feet as he turns over, groaning in pain. I turn, and the movement finally forces a tear down my cheek as I run back down the tunnel—alone. Completely alone.

Hot pain flares in my chest, and I struggle to keep every movement precise as I crawl back out of the fissure and into the night—using the light of the stone to navigate my way back through the crevice, and into the opening. I run across it quickly, aiming to reach the ship before Loki gets to me, when a sudden bolt of light bursts by me. I jump, feeling the air blow past me, as the pieces of the rock fly by my face in a sudden explosion.

I pivot sharply toward the source. Not soon enough—as another beam cascades by me, and I gasp in pain as hot pressure bursts against my side, taking a slice out of me. I stumble backward, and look down at the gaping hole in my side—at the blood glinting about the edges of the wound. My breath slows as I roll my eyes up at the sight of five masked figures approaching me slowly, with a ship hovering overhead—resembling one of the ships from Seron's fleet—and guns pointed in my direction.

The stone grows hot in my left hand as three more beams cut through me like thick knives. In a moment of rage and power barreling through my veins, I throw out my right hand with a pained cry—wanting more than anything for these people to be dead, and for this to be over.

Ten long streams of light burst from their bodies and from the ship, spiraling down through my arm, and into the stone on the opposite side. The ship whirs loudly, floating side to side for a moment before it crashes into the mountainside. I drop my hands to my sides, and a light whimper escapes my throat as I shut my eyes tightly—wincing at the burning pain left behind in my arms and chest.

"Lara!" I hear Loki call out to me from behind.

Wetness presses against my skin beneath the suit as my hands I open my eyes and turn slowly, swaying slightly as the fiery scene begins to spin. My eyes stop at the crevice, at the sight of Loki grasping at the rock with his hands, trying to pass through it quickly. He emerges into the opening, and the entire right half of his body glows brightly from the burning fire. He glances once at it, before returning to me.

"Loki…" my voice trails off as the stone falls from my loosened hand, landing amidst the drops of my blood in the dirt.

He steps toward me as my head hangs over slowly, and my body sways once more before giving out entirely. I barely feel the impact against the ground before blackness spills into my vision, and I'm alone—once more—in the darkness.

[to be continued]


	8. Chapter 8: Under the Crimson Rubble

I feel… strange.

Empty and hollow, yet still awake.

Lights flash intermittently throughout the darkness in my eyes, until I start to recognize where I am—trailing behind a hospital bed down a long hallway, crowded by a number of figures talking and moving frantically around it.

I'm not moving, though. Not entirely—I'm moving through space, being pulled like the anchor of a ship. My eyes move slowly from one person to the next, from one white coat and gloved hand to the next, until my eyes fall on the subject of panic in the room—a body laying motionlessly on the hospital bed, with the tips of its light, honey-colored locks tinted crimson red.

The noises drown out for a moment as I focus on the face. The pale, lifeless face turning slightly against the pillow with every bump and movement, as the body is hauled around the corner, and into a room.

The pulling ceases as the staff lifts the body onto a larger bed, and begins cutting away at the portions of her—of my—black suit, where the wounds continue bleeding underneath. At the sight of exposed, ribboned skin, I look away.

That can't be me. That's not me.

My eyes pass over everything else in the room—anything to not have to look at my dying body. I know that's what it is deep down, and from the sight of the small, metal tools to the beeping machines, there's little that can distract me from it right now. I feel it—the grief—but it's a distant feeling, too far to acknowledge closely with my heart. There's more peace here—wherever this is—than there is sorrow or loss.

Loss… The loss of my life—I know it's close. I don't need machines to tell me that. I feel myself pulling away.

"I'm not going anywhere," a familiar voice growls behind me.

I turn slowly, peering out an empty doorway as the beeping slows to a continuous hum. Fingers appear at the edge of the doorway first, followed briskly by a tall, slender figure appearing in the threshold, looking straight at me with light, blue eyes.

No, not at me—through me.

I step to the side, turning and following his gaze to the dead body lying in the middle of the room. The bustling continues as I look back at him, watching his hand slide slowly down the doorframe and drop to his side. I follow the black, leather sleeve up to his face—to his slightly parted lips, and brows hanging heavy over his widened eyes, amidst the disbelieving expression on his face.

He strides forward slowly. So slowly. I step toward him, staring at his sculpted profile as he stares down at my body, without so much of a flinch or blink of an eye. His chest rises and falls heavily for a moment, but settles motionlessly as he comes to a stop in the middle of the room, glancing at the humming monitors. I stride in front of him, stopping a foot away—perplexed by the anguish growing slowly in the narrowing corners of his eyes.

With a high-pitched sound, a sudden jolt of electricity pounds through every floating cell of my ethereal form. I stumble—not even knowing I could stumble—and look back up to his blue eyes for a heartbeat, before another jolt throws me backward away from them, and onto the bed.

My ribcage rises from the mattress as my eyes bolt open with a sharp breath. I drop back down, feeling my body sink further into it than it should—further into the soft, beckoning darkness that my mind wandered into what felt like moments before.

* * *

I feel my breath first. Then, my fingers brushing against the sheets with a subtle flinch. Finally, the rest of my skin becomes perceivable, and my eyes slowly open to a white ceiling above my head. I blink as my vision normalizes, and I part my lips slightly—tasting the cold, stale air in the room as I lower my eyes from the ceiling, looking about as I turn my head against the soft, elevated pillow.

A chair faces the bed just a few feet away with Loki draped over it—seemingly comfortably—with elbows resting on the handles and an ankle resting on his knee. His eyes are shut, but his expression is far from peaceful sleep.

Did he bring me here? Did he save my life?

I lay both hands against the soft mattress, trying not expend too much of my energy as I lift myself up into a seated position. The stone—where's the stone?

I turn my head, looking from the small table at the foot of the bed, to the makeshift night stands on either side of it. A movement in the corner of my eye turns my attention back to Loki, who slowly shifts in the chair as he wakes.

The moment he meets my eyes, a tight knot forms high up in my chest, and I look away—recoiling fearfully from him, and trying to lock the flashes of my horrifying vision out of my head.

"Lara," he says softly in a low voice, and the chair creaks underneath him as he rises, stepping closer to the bed.

My eyes pass over the blue blanket covering the bottom half of my body—slightly in his direction—and I glance up at him briefly under a heavy, distrustful brow.

"Please," he says. "Don't look at me like that—you know I won't hurt you."

"That—" I choke, swallowing hard to quell my dry throat. "That's a lot to—" I stop, and water pools in my eyes as a sharp scratching in the back of my throat forces a sudden cough. Stinging pain shoots out from my sides, and the water in my eyes deposits as I shut them tightly—trying to suppress another cough.

I hear Loki's boot slide against the tiled floor, and with the sound of pouring water, I open them again to his extended hand offering me a glass half-full. I peer up at him for a moment, at his unnerved expression, before reaching out to take it. I press the edge of the cold glass to my lips, and the water flows down my throat soothingly.

Loki reaches out again after a few sips, to take the cup. Hurt twinges in my chest as I look at his hand reaching gently for me. Rather than bear that minute contact—which will undoubtedly render tears—I shift over on the bed, setting the glass back onto the nightstand myself.

His hand drops down to his side. "I suppose," he says darkly. "I owe you an explanation—"

"Where's the stone?" I interject, peering up at him.

He presses his lips together, staring down at me sadly for a moment—almost disappointedly, like I should trust him more. With a heavy sigh, Loki turns, lowering himself closely onto the edge of the bed. Holding my gaze, he reaches out and cups my right hand with his left—pulling it toward him with the palm facing up, and rests it on his knee—covering it again with his right hand.

Something small and heavy drops into my palm, pressing against my skin as his grip tightens. A subtle rush of pressure flutters up my arm, and that's how I know—it's the stone.

I look up at him. "Just like that?"

He lowers his head solemnly.

"Why?"

Silence passes between us as Loki's eyes fall downward. "Because if I didn't try to take it in the first place, I would've been there to…" he pauses as an unpleasant memory dances across his eyes. He continues in a low voice, "It doesn't matter. I don't want it. And I shouldn't have tried to take it."

The corners of my mouth curl downward briefly, as hurt steeps in my chest. "It's not the worst thing you've done, is it?" I ask quietly.

He shakes his head. "No, it isn't."

"And you weren't going to tell me about New York."

"I was not."

I pause. "I'd ask why… But I guess it's pretty self-explanatory."

"I didn't want to tell you because I'm not sorry for it," he says. "I'm only sorry that you got hurt because of it."

I stare at him for a moment, dousing the sting in my chest. Finally I shake my head. "I don't understand," I mutter quietly. "Why did you do it?"

He looks up at me, eyes hardening slightly as he pulls forward a piece of the cruel man I'd seen in my vision. "Simply because I wanted to. I'd been lied to about my lineage, deceived my entire life—I simply wanted to make good on that lie. Rule Midgard as a benevolent god."

My face sinks darkly as I look back at him. "That's not an excuse, Loki."

"I never said it was an excuse," he says. "It was a reason. I was a king, wanting what was promised me."

"A true king admits his faults, doesn't he?" I say—parroting the woman from my vision. He blinks bitterly—recognizing the words—and his lips thin reprehensibly. "But I guess it doesn't matter—you don't need to be sorry," I continue in a low voice. "You just need to leave."

His dour expression vanishes, as his hands loosen around mine. "Is that what you want?"

I swallow a hard lump, nodding my head. "This conversation is pointless, you've already decided that you're 'not sorry'—and you don't even know what you really did wrong."

"And what have I 'really' done wrong?"

I look up, fixing my enraged glare on his intent eyes. "You gave up," I scowl, frustration roiling painfully in my chest at the memory of that day—of the chaos and grief he'd imposed on millions of people. "Someone hurt you, I can understand that—but you gave up. You chose to let it destroy your life. And if you think that's an acceptable way to live, then fine—it's your life. But it doesn't give you the right to destroy everyone else's while you deal with the same types of problems that everyone faces at one point or another. So someone lied to you, in a way that I'm guessing could've had very little impact on your life if you'd let it," I shake my head, pulse rising as the memory of my own trauma flashes in my mind. "That's hardly pain."

Catching the implication, Loki's hardened gaze softens accordingly, and he casts it down once more—no doubt trying to find the right response. To my arrogance? To the truth? No doubt all of the above.

"Or maybe it is," I continue, and he looks back up at me slowly. "And maybe you're still not sorry because that's just who you are. I don't know—but it's not who I am. So as much as I thought I understood you… I'll never accept this way you do."

"I know," he mumbles, peering at me with heavy eyes. "And I will go if you want me to—but you're wrong. I do know pain. If only once, I knew it when…" he pauses reluctantly. "When I walked into this room and saw you dead."

Amidst the anger and hurt, a scintilla of warmth flares in my chest, and I inhale deeply—trying to subdue the wetness growing in my eyes.

"But I will leave," he continues tautly, repeating himself—maybe hoping I'll stop him if he presses the nerve enough times. "If you want me to."

I stare at him tightly, feeling the raw vulnerability in his voice. My eyes fall to our hands, still laying warmly—safely—in their own small embrace. An unspoken truth blooms slowly in my mind—that deep down, a small part of me hiding beneath the rubble doesn't want him to leave either. It wants him to stay, and try to be better. Make the effort, at least. Give the pain in my chest a reason to drain—though I know he won't. He's made that clear.

Fear rises and falls with every breath and passing thought, but through it all, I can't deny the truth blaring in my head. That whatever he is and whatever he's done, I've just… Damn. I've grown to care for him so much. In all the moments we'd spent together, through all the jokes and revelations, I'd deign to say… I might've fallen in love in the process. And that took away the heart I'd need to send him away right now.

"Just…" I croak. "Do what you want." I scooping the stone in my hand and sliding it out into the cold air, covering it again in my lap.

I stare down at the stone, and my throat bobs as I struggle to keep the icy mask on my face, while Loki peers at me motionlessly.

Finally he nods. "I'll go find a doctor," he mumbles quietly. "They wanted me to let them know when you were awake."

I nod in turn, and Loki waits for a moment before standing up. The bed shifts upward with his absent weight, and I watch the deep, green cloak trail behind him as he stalks slowly toward the door, catching one last glimpse of his sculpted profile.

The stupidly, beautifully sculpted profile of the person I've fallen in love with. Who fooled me with his moments of decency, to hide a horrible past. A murderous past—where millions of people suffered because of his own petty discord.

Tears flood my eyes, and I can't hold them back anymore. I hang my head over, letting the battle between love and pain erupt in a quiet sob. Loki pauses, looking back once more before crossing over the threshold, returning moments later—allowing me some time to compose myself anew.

Loki enters first, followed by a doctor, the yellow-eyed king—and his two sons. My heavy eyes pass over Olen suspiciously as he strides into the room, closing the door behind him.

"Hello Lara," the doctor greets me, striding to my left with one wrist tucked under the other. "How are you feeling?"

I look up at her with a nod. "Fine, I think… Tired, a little nauseated."

"That's normal—you came within an inch of your life, but you'll be alright. Definitely do need to get some rest though," she says, scanning the room demonstrably with her eyes.

The king gestures to her, stepping up next to her. "We won't be long," he says, looking back down at me. "We just wanted to see how your recovery is coming along."

"As good as it can get, I suppose."

"And," he says, tilting his chin downward. "Did you succeed, in your quest?"

I blink heavily, lowering my eyes down to my hand. "Yes," I say, uncovering it—revealing the radiant, white gem resting in my palm. "Yes, we did."

He sighs heavily, glancing at his sons. I look up at them both—Olen continues staring blankly at the stone, while Yerul exchanges a subtle, contented glance with his father.

"So it's practically over, then—the war?" Yerul asks.

"We have what we need to end it now," the king nods, grinning warmly at me.

With a quiet knock at the door, Olen turns and opens it, allowing a tall, slender woman to pass through—clad in beautiful, flowing robes and jewels. His lips tighten as she peers at him disapprovingly, before trailing her eyes over to me. A grin spreads across her face as she passes by the two of them, and approaches the right side of my bed.

"My dear," she says, reaching down to take my empty hand. "My name is Valaryn—I'm so happy to have finally met you."

"Nice to meet you too," I nod wearily.

"You've met my sons," she turns her head in their direction momentarily before looking back. "And my husband. I'm sorry our acquaintance has taken this long."

"Not a problem," I nod again.

"I understand you to be our savior," she smiles, glancing at the stone. "You'll have my gratitude eternally. Anything you need, you need only ask for it."

"Help is all I need," I solemnly, looking up at the king. "There's still work to do, isn't there?"

"Yes," he says, shaking his head with a raised brow. "But now is not the time to discuss that. We should take a moment to celebrate this victory."

I lower my eyes, as heaviness settles into my chest. I don't need a damn celebration, I just need to go home.

"So we should," she says, looking up at her husband. "A proper celebration is due, I think. How long must she stay in the hospital?" Valaryn asks, addressing the doctor now.

The doctor turns, scanning the machines slowly, shaking her head. "A week, perhaps. Her injuries were deep, we need to monitor her condition for the time being."

The queen nods. "A week is just enough time," she grins, looking back at me. "Something to look forward to when you leave here, isn't it?"

The warm sincerity in her eyes chips a bit of the tension in my chest, and the corner of my mouth curls slightly as I nod. It's so confusing—how could someone so outwardly kind and gentle raise those two idiots?

Then again, Olen was perfectly charming when I first met him too.

Valaryn exhales sharply. "Well, it's settled then," she smiles, rising from the bed. "We should leave her now, shouldn't we?"

"Yes," the doctor nods, looking down at me. "You need to rest, you shouldn't exert yourself heavily—everything can be discussed and dealt with at a later time."

I look toward a sudden movement in the corner of my eye—at Loki lowering himself down into the chair.

"Of course," the doctor gestures to him with a dark, slender hand. "Your husband can stay, but everyone else really must leave."

I blink, turning my head sharply. "Excuse me?"

"That's right," Loki interjects. "As she said—everything will be dealt with and discussed at a later time."

I look back at him—wide-eyed—clenching my jaw annoyedly.

"Lara," Olen's voice draws my attention away, and I peer up at him blankly. "I should apologize, for lying to you. I didn't think you'd actually do it, but now that we're all here…" he shakes his head. "I should've been wiser. I'm truly sorry."

My nostrils flare slightly for a moment, and I sigh heavily. "It's alright," I say darkly.

"I'm sorry too," Yerul steps forward, gesturing to me. "You know, for… Before."

"Mhm," the corners of my mouth curl amusedly, seeing Valaryn nod approvingly at him. "I forgive you."

With a final glance, the royal family shuffles one by one across the room—toward the door. The king is the last to go, with a final nod of appreciation on his way out.

"Let me know if you need anything," the doctor says, reaching up above me with a syringe. "But for now, this will help you sleep. Give it a few minutes first, but we can always add more if you need it."

"Thank you."

"Of course," she nods—once at me, and once at Loki before leaving the room, shutting the door behind her.

I immediately turn toward Loki. "Husband?" My voice drops low. "That's not funny."

"Not in the slightest," he says solemnly. "Especially considering that Olen has been taking a keen interest in your recovery—all your procedures and medications. So I took it upon myself to ensure you're not left alone with him."

I narrow my eyes suspiciously. "Why would he care about that?"

"I don't know," he shakes his head. "I had no intention of waiting to find out, either."

My shoulders drop exhaustively. "Fine," I sigh, propping my hands against the bed to lower myself down. "Just… Let me get some sleep, will you?"

"I'm not stopping you," he says.

The bed creaks slightly as I slide forward into the sheets, lowering my head and shoulders down into the pillow—letting out a deep breath as I sink heavily into its softness. My gaze trails back up to the ceiling, where it remains for moments more, as the medication slowly pulls me limb by limb into peaceful rest.

* * *

One flash.

Two.

Three.

Four drops of blood on the ground.

Now five.

Now ten—as the fire closes in around me. My skin burns as three more flashes pass me by, and I flinch at the jolting pain in my side. I pivot sharply, only to feel the cold rim of a gun pressed against my forehead. I raise my arms up ahead of me—but there's no figure for them to shove aside. I hear a subtle click, and—

I gasp sharply, bolting up from the hospital bed, raising my hands up to my forehead as my chest heaves aggressively.

"Lara," I hear Loki's voice, suddenly realizing his tight grasp on both my shoulders. "It's alright—it's alright," he says softly, releasing one of his hands, and raising it up to the side of my face. "Go back to sleep."

I look up, seeing him peer down down at me intently, brushing his thumb against my temple. "Go back to sleep," he repeats earnestly, as a gentle warmth starts to spread through the side of my face—relaxing my eyes and carefully detangling the remnants of tension throughout my neck and shoulders. I feel my muscles loosen as I lean into the pillow slowly, drifting back into a cool, open dream.

A beautiful landscape flourishes from the darkness before my eyes. Trees sway slightly far below, against the same, warm breeze that lifts the strands of hair off my shoulders. A ledge stretches out far over the edge of the cliff I'm standing on, and dirt slides under my feet as I stride out onto it slowly—looking out at the sun setting over a vast country of valleys and mountainous hills, outlined by the glinting branches of a river threading between them delicately.

Even the air tastes sweet and fresh, sucking every last ounce of fear and tension from my body with every breath.

Awareness suddenly spikes in my body, and I turn slowly toward the figure standing several feet behind me—tall in stature, with black curls trailing down to his shoulders, providing a sharp contrast with the light, blue eyes peering out at the scenery.

They turn slowly, meeting me with a subtle reluctance. The minute his eyes lock on mine, affection blooms, while safety and familiarity warm my chest—pushing out what's left of my fear. Safety, familiarity, and… Love.

With a quick impulse, I stride toward him briskly—closing the space between us rapidly. His lips part nervously as I get close, but keeping his eyes fixed on mine, he doesn't move. Not even an inch. The momentum lifts me onto the balls of my feet before him, and I throw my arms up over his shoulders, my lips collide with his.

I pull back strands of hair as I drag my hand back along his jawline, pulling him closer. He exhales sharply, and his breath fans my cheeks heavily as his lips move against mine—with one arm wrapped around my waist, and the other gliding up my backside, grasping my shoulder tightly with his hand. My arms tighten around his neck as he lifts me slowly, almost completely off the tips of my feet, and I pull back ever so slightly. Enough to smile against his lips—still caressing mine softly—as I press my forehead against his, and let fire burn away the darkness, making way for bright, glowing happiness.

I pull away further, gazing up at him as he sets me down gently. Heavy, blue eyes peer softly back at me—the eyes of a Norse god. Of a man that cares deeply for me. Of… a murderer.

My smile melts away slowly. With a flash of the cruel, baleful eyes I'd seen once before, I pull back sharply—blinking hard with an abrupt return to waking life.

I inhale, rising up slowly from my pillow, and place a hand to calm my heaving chest. Loki's cold fingers brush against my skin as he pulls his hand away slowly—peering at me wide-eyed with shock and stupor, taking shallow breaths as he straightens up before me.

My breaths, however, are not shallow. Not in the slightest. Remnants of warmth linger in my chest as I tighten my fingers around the sheets—staring at Loki blankly. Maybe slightly horrified.

Tension ripples through his jaw as he blinks, turning his head away sharply. He moves slightly, like he's going to look back, but instead turns and lifts himself off the bed—stalking toward the door.

"Did…" I whisper breathlessly. Loki stops abruptly at the door, turning his head to where I can see his profile. "Did you do that?"

He glances at me, eyes filled to the brim with soft affection—and uncertainty.

"Not all of it," he says in a low voice, waiting a moment before opening the door, and disappearing through it.

[to be continued]


	9. Chapter 9: Strings of the Dark Dimension

The king eyes me suspiciously, standing several feet away with his arms crossed. "Is it not too soon for this?"

"It's not," I say, rolling my shoulders back comfortably—propping against a chair in the middle of the throne room. "The doctor said I needed a week—it's been a week. Do I look injured to you, still?" I gesture to my torso—completely healed and covered with my freshly patched suit.

He exhales lightly through his nostrils, shaking his head reluctantly. "Well, I suppose not…"

"That's right—and besides," I say, glancing around the hall—at the king, his guards, and Yerul. "This won't require any physical exertion."

No sign of Olen.

"How can you know?" The king asks. "And how can you be sure that you will find it?"

"Well I've done this before, that's how I know. And I can't be sure that it'll be there, I just suspect it. Seron said we're 'cut from the same cloth,' and I believe that's why I was able to travel to Asgard on my own," I say, exhaling sharply as I lean forward slightly. "What better place to hide the tesseract than someplace that only he—and I—can get to? No armies, no help."

"Speaking of Asgard," Yerul chimes in, stepping forward. "Where is your friend? Has he no interest in this endeavor?"

My eyes dart up to him. "I couldn't tell you if he did," I say contemptibly. "I haven't seen him in days."

And it's true. I haven't seen or heard from Loki in six days. I haven't tried to find him either—not after I returned to my room and found his corridor brushed, polished, and cleaned as though no one was ever there—or intended to be.

"More interesting question is," I ask. "Where's your brother?"

He shrugs. "Couldn't tell you either."

"What?" I say, raising a brow. "So… They're both gone?"

"Not quite," says a voice to the left, resonating slightly against the walls. Yerul and I both look over, seeing Loki stride through the archway leading from the next hall. He glances at me with a stiff, toneless expression—I return it likewise, keeping a mask of calm.

"What exactly is going on here?" Loki asks, glancing about as he strides along the line of guards.

"I'm going after the tesseract," I say matter-of-factly.

He slides to a stop, facing me. "You're going after it? How's that, exactly?" he gestures to the chair. "You're looking comfortable just there."

"I am comfortable. And for where I'm going, I won't be needing to get up from it."

"And where is that, exactly?" the king asks concernedly, stepping forward with his arms crossed.

I look toward him. "Well, I'm going to focus on the tesseract, and I suspect that Seron's returned it to the dark realm. The one that he was 'born of,'" I slide against the seat, straightening my backside against the wooden frame. "Or—dimension. Whatever it is."

"I don't understand—it's a real place?" Yerul asks.

I shrug. "I'll let you know when I find out."

"If you're going alone," the king asks. "Then why did you ask for all these guards?"

I pause, feeling the heavy threat of the unknown settle in my face. "Well," I say in a low voice. "I don't know if someone—or something—will try to follow me here. If it does, I'll try to hold it back. But if I can't, then you ought to be ready for it."

The king blinks toward the ground, then nods ponderously in agreement. "Very well."

I bob my head. "Alright," I say, my eyes passing over all their faces, pausing on Loki's for a brief moment. "I'm going to start now."

I sigh lightly, pursing my lips doubtfully as I close my eyes. I wasn't thinking about the tesseract the first time I traveled to it, I didn't even know that it existed. All I wanted in that situation was to escape to sleep, and then something took me one step further. A subtle, innate glimmer of curiosity and desire to act and understand what was happening in my room that night. There was no innate threat, nothing that made me want to run.

Except now, that's exactly what I'm doing. Constantly running from one problem, toward another. Or trying to, anyway—but I know deep down that in this particular moment, there isn't the slightest desire to be anywhere except the safety of where I am now.

After several moments of failed meditation, I sigh. "Damn."

"What? What happened?" Yerul says, and I open my eyes to their faces peering back at me intently.

I exhale frustratedly. "I can't do it. I can't focus on it. It's almost like…" I pause, lifting a hand demonstrably off the arm rest. "I don't want it enough—don't want to leave this room."

Yerul's eyes light up suddenly. "Sounds like you need some motivation," he says.

I lower my chin suspiciously. "Maybe," I say slowly, and a hint of an amused grin tugs on the corner of my mouth. "What've you got?"

A smile breaks out on Yerul's face. "Well," he says laughingly. "I can throw out a couple of insults if you'd like—something to make you angry, make you want to 'leave this room.' Like your hair, or your… atrocious clothes," he says sarcastically.

My brows droop low as I glance at the suit. "Well you really go from zero to a hundred, don't you?" I shake my head—momentarily glancing at my hair to see whether my curls are also looking 'atrocious.' "Unfortunately I don't think that's going to do achieve anything except a fight. And besides—" my voice drops. "I'd rather dodge insults than electric bullets."

"Perhaps I might be of assistance," Loki interjects, and we both turn toward him—smiles disappearing.

Loki holds my gaze as he approaches slowly with a somber look that silences us all, boots sliding against the marble floors with thumps and squeaks. The only sound in the room for now—save for the slight touches of metal as all the guards regard us closely. He stops, peering down at me for a moment before sighing lightly, and squatting down in front of me.

"Lara," he says, mustering a resentful tone. "Since we met on Asgard, you have been... just the most encumbering nuisance," he tilts his head sarcastically. "Can't say that's much improved—in fact, you've been the newly gathered subject of my discord. And the moment really can't come soon enough that I no longer have to tolerate it, so please—if you will."

I stare darkly at him—bewildered. Really, to think I'd believe a word of that?

My faces softens with a creeping revelation—the slow, aching understanding of the reason for his disappearance. I can only buy one grain of truth behind his words—that this distance and resentment is easier for him than whatever grief I must have caused. Perhaps he thinks it's truly easier this way, but one thing is certain—I wouldn't have caused him any 'discord' if I were nothing but an encumbering nuisance.

A disproving grin tugs on the corner of my mouth. Loki's brow flickers confusedly over his dour expression, but he stands, taking a few steps back. An icy mask spreads over my face as he backs away slowly, staring coldly at me.

This all started with the tesseract, and that's where it'll end. Wherever it is and however it got there, that's where I need to be.

And all of this will be over.

A sharp rush of wind and pressure passes over my body, with shock sealing my eyes tightly shut for a brief time. The cool, brisk air that had been breezing through the hall disappears from my skin, and I drop down against a soft surface, sinking against it slightly. Immaterial waves of cool, wet fluid trickle against my hands, and I open my eyes to the sight of it all—the dark dimension.

I was right—this must be it. This has to be the place so ominously named, with a title fitting the eery sense of discombobulate existence. I couldn't begin to fully capture the myriad of shapes, fluids, and neon surfaces floating by me—mostly having to do with their seemingly constant metamorphosis into other shapes, fluids, and surfaces.

So… Where's the tesseract?

I stand slowly, swaying slightly at the lack of gravity holding my ethereal form in place. Once I gain my balance—if that's what one could call it—I turn slightly in place, looking for signs of the tesseract. It must be somewhere nearby, it wouldn't make sense otherwise. I landed near it the first time, there's no reason for it not to be now, with my active effort to gravitate toward it through space and time.

Or maybe it's not meant to be seen by the naked eye. I glance down at my hand, seeing the faint, residual light of the shard still gleaming under my skin. It'd be a mistake to draw attention by using the god stone's power, but there shouldn't be a problem with using the sight.

A wave of energy rushes through me with a quick impulse. In the blink of an eye, the setting changes. The fundamentals are there, but the 'strings' are different here—black, towering like structures of cities built against the distant, floating bodies of mass, and moving amongst each other like living creatures. And there, in the far distance, I see it—the faint, blue glow of the tesseract, hidden in a web of string.

In such a weightless form, it shouldn't be too much trouble to get there—assuming space aim doesn't send me spiraling past it into nothingness.

I exhale lightly with relief—and something screeches quietly behind me in turn.

The corners of my mouth drop abruptly as I turn my head slowly. Slowly, toward a figure slithering shapelessly in the air behind me, like a stream of smoke twisting and turning about itself.

My eyes widen as it suddenly bursts toward me on the ground, and I kick off sharply—flying at a constant, barreling speed past the black structures, where more and more of those figures warp responsively between the structures. More screeches break out behind me.

Damn, how do I fly this thing? I reach out, grabbing at the black strings with both my hands—which are thankfully more material than anything else that's here.

My legs fly by the structure that I've grabbed at, and the momentum peels the strings effortlessly from my grip. I look downward at the ground I'm floating toward—descending into a much more concentrated collection of little black balls of string darting away from me. They remind me suddenly of those I'd seen in the hall, the day the shard was embedded in my hand. Does that mean, these things are people?

No time to find out. I land against the surface, which ripples at my touch. The tips of the structures sway reactively to the movement as I rise up to my legs—somehow—and glance back briefly toward the sound of screeches as I take off in a running motion, in the tesseract's direction.

It seems the more I try, the less control I have over my movements. The gentler, the better. I kick off sharply from the ground, grunting loudly as I grab onto the next structure stretching up sideways from a large, glowing planet, and grip it tightly as my legs fly past it again. I swing my legs inward, and my hair flies back over my head as I curl my body into a ball against the structure, propping my feet beside my hands—leaving half a second to spare before the creatures catch up—and release them overhead, using all my immaterial strength to jump toward the tesseract.

Textured planets and pillars continue to fly by me much more quickly now, and I clench my jaw tightly with frustration—I hadn't considered how I'd stop myself, once I got close to the tesseract.

Brace for impact, brace for impact—a solid, black building suddenly materializes around the tesseract, towering down to one of the floating planets below. Pieces of broken matter scatter around me as I burst through the web, positive that the sharpness of the hardened strings would've left scrapes and cuts on my physical body.

My eyes dart downward, past my boots, and I hold my breath as the creatures slither past the web and through the other side of the belfry.

"HAH!" a smile bursts on my face, and I let out a relieved laugh, looking back up at the tesseract.

It's within reach.

I wince suddenly, as an abrupt explosion of a three-toned cry breaks out in my ears. I look back down, at the slim streams of blackness snaking over the edges of the railing. Slowly, one contorted body of mass rises shapelessly over the edge—rippling menacingly around a pair of bright, violet eyes peering angrily at me.

Violet eyes? I wonder if…

"…Seron?" I whisper.

The creature bellows in a rage.

"Nope!" I gasp, turning and ripping through the remaining black strings with my arm—grasping the warm, vibrating surface of the tesseract with my right hand.

With a familiar flicker of electricity against my skin, the world disappears into blue light. The sharpness of the strings disappears from my body, and I gasp sharply once again as the world reappears—along with the sound of ringing metal, as several startled guards draw their swords defensively against me.

Yerul, Loki, the King—I loosen my hand, and the tesseract falls into my lap as I scan their startled faces.

I made it back.

With a heavy groan, I sigh heavily and shut my eyes—cocking my head back against the chair, trying to calm my heaving chest.

"Jesus…" I say breathlessly, and my lip curls into a subtle grin. "That was so much fun."

My eyes open as I smile broadly, looking down at the tesseract resting sideways between my thighs, and then back up at the trio of confused expressions staring back at me.

"What happened?" the king steps forward.

I laugh, letting every bit of residual adrenaline pour out shamelessly.

"Whooh," I sigh again, shaking my head calmly. "The dark dimension happened." I raise a finger to the air. "Yeah—don't go there," I say laughingly.

The king's voice drops low. "You got the tesseract, and…" he pauses. "Nothing is coming?"

"No, nothing's coming," I smile, taking the cube in my right hand, and using the left to lift myself slowly out of the chair as my breathing settles. "We're in the clear. But thank you for being here Your Majesty, for being willing to help—since getting this back was more my business than yours."

"After all you've done for us, there's nothing to thank for in this," he grins, tilting his head. "And—you may call me Reylan."

I raise a brow. "Is that your name? I was starting to think I'd always call you the Yellow-Eyed King."

Reylan frowns. "When have you called me that?"

"Oh, no—sorry," I wave my free hand through the air. "I was calling you that in my head, since I didn't know your name."

"Ah," he says. "I see."

I bob my head, inhaling lightly through my nostrils. "Well, that's all I suppose," I say, looking around at the relaxing guard. "We should go rest up to celebrate tomorrow, shouldn't we?" I smile warmly, reveling in the contentment.

Two victories—two massive victories—in the course of a week. It's definitely reason to celebrate.

"Right," Reylan faces the guards. "You are all dismissed—as are all of you," he says, turning back to us and bowing his head with a concluding grin. "And if there's nothing else you need of me, then I shall also say goodnight to you all."

I nod. "Yes, this was all," I smile back.

"Then good night," he grins warmly, glancing at all of us.

I watch as he turns slowly and strides off to the archway leading out of the main hall, before pivoting toward Yerul. "Guess you'll have to insult me some other time," I say amusedly.

He laughs, crossing his arms. "Oh I'm sure I'll get the chance to," he glances at Loki, and his smile diminishes to a tense, awkward line. "Well—good night to you both as well, I suppose. I'll see you both tomorrow, for the celebration?"

An agreeing grin tugs my face to the side a bit. "You'll see me for sure," I say, swallowing the nervous lump that rises in my chest as Loki's eyes trail slowly toward me.

Yerul's keen, observing eyes pass between myself and Loki, and by the growing curiosity on his face, I'm under the distinct impression that someone in this 'palace' is in for some kind of gossip tonight.

His eyes land on me finally, with a nod. "Alright then—good night," he says, turning awkwardly and pacing away—leaving us both alone in the main hall.

My eyes don't leave his blue, cloaked backside for a second. Even as he disappears around the corner. Only at the sound of a shutting door in the next hall, do I finally look back at Loki. He meets my eyes—saying nothing.

"Good night," I say tonelessly, nodding my head.

I look back up at him for a moment, at the austere expression hardened over his face, before turning and stalking toward the archway. The sound of leather boots against the marble floors picks up behind me shortly—along with my pace.

"Won't be seeing me tomorrow, will he?"

"You tell me," I shake my head, still striding forward. "You're invited, aren't you?"

"Don't know—that sounded like a revocation."

I roll my eyes as we pass under the first archway, our footsteps echoing against the tall, veined walls of the tree. "What do you want, Loki?"

"I want you to talk to me."

I scoff, still headed toward the glass elevator. "Well there's a change of heart. After everything that's happened," I say earnestly, raising a finger in the air. "Particularly that disappearing act—what makes you think I want to talk to you?"

"What, would you deign to associate with that princely fool instead?" he asks emphatically.

I stop abruptly, passing the tesseract into my left hand as I pivot angrily in his direction—throwing my right hand up, half-clenched, and summoning the strings to constrict around his neck and shoulders. Gently enough for shock, but… not enough for pain. He stops abruptly in his tracks, parting his lips surprisedly.

My brows crinkle as disbelief splays mockingly across my face. "Who do you think I am?" I say, stalking slightly closer as his expression shifts to wicked amusement. "You think I'm someone you can lie to, then ignore for a week?" I shake my head, lowering my hand down from his neck, releasing him. "If you had deigned to talk to me in that time, I might've told you—I hate being ignored."

Loki's smile broadens as he relaxes, running a hand over his neck as he lets out a breathy chuckle. "Well you're quite the droll one, aren't you?"

"No," I tilt my head, raising both hands up sarcastically—one with the tesseract, and shard embedded in the other. "What I am is armed—so I'd stop screwing with me if I were you, and just… Be honest."

Loki's brow flickers at the sudden drop of wryness from my tone, and the amusement slowly drains from his own expression. "Honest?"

"Yes, honest." I say, stepping back as I toss the tesseract to him. "With both of us."

He catches the cube with one hand, pulling it slowly to himself as his smile fades completely.

"I don't understand," he says in a low voice.

A white-hot sting electrocutes my chest. "Go home, Loki."

Heaviness settles in his expression as he peers darkly at me. "Excuse me?"

"No more 'encumbering nuisances,'" I say, controlling my voice with heavy breaths. "It's what you asked for. So go home."

He parts his lips reluctantly, looking between myself and the tesseract. "What about you?"

"By the time this is over—" I pause, with the sudden thought of some fiery death flashing across my thoughts. "If I need the tesseract, I'll know where to find it."

A subtle softness leaks into his otherwise hard expression. "Lara—"

I raise a hand to stop him. "Just go," I say bitterly as I turn, readying to walk away. "It's for the best. You're a difficult man to love."

All things considered, I know he is—but that's not stopping every fiber of my being from screaming out at me in protest as I walk off.

"To love?" I hear him mumble, but I don't stop.

It shouldn't matter anyway. So what if I love him? If he goes home, it's for the best—love is no excuse to act against my own wellbeing. I found it once, I'll find it again.

So I don't turn. I don't look, I don't talk. I just keep going. Doing what I know is best—letting it go, and holding my breath until the elevator doors cut away the silence behind me.

[to be continued]


	10. Chapter 10: The Cobalt Dress

I don't think I've ever stared so long at my own reflection.

Not because I like what I see, no—that's not why my jaw's hanging open. It's the fact that I look like an American Girl Doll that sneezed and accidentally birthed a thousand ruffles.

"Are there any others left?" I turn to the young handmaiden who'd dropped off the collection of dresses.

She shakes her head politely, otherwise refusing to speak to me. I can't say I blame her entirely, I'm not sure I'd have anything nice to say, either. At least this dark cobalt dress is in my color wheel, and from the chest up, I'll look more or less presentable.

The strange, hook-shaped iron I'd also been given seemed pretty intimidating at first—it might've produced lovely curls if I hadn't decided to stick with my natural waves. I did use the iron to flatten them a bit though, to give them a slightly more 'intentional' appearance. With the slightest bit of powder and makeup, I'm good to go by nightfall.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself—again and again on my ride down in the glass elevator. The handmaiden, Yliana, was supposed to ride down with me… But there was no room in the elevator for both her and my skirt. I stare down at it contemptibly as the elevator settles onto the pad, and shuffle out awkwardly as soon as the doors open.

Just in and out—I don't need to stay very long. I can say hello to everybody and be back in my room in no time at all.

I turn to the right, headed toward a small hallway leading to one of the halls I've never been in before, where the event is being held. Thankfully, there're no people in the hallway to see my awkward waddle, probably because of my own slight tardiness. If anyone asks, I'll blame it on the skirt somehow, and move about the event very slowly. No one will argue with that—or me, if they want to keep breathing.

From around the corner, I can see that the doors are closed—even more so, it turns out I'm not alone out here. A tall, lean figure is standing before the door, with his back facing me. I stumble over my ridiculous heels as soon as I see him, and he turns toward the abrupt noise. A pair of light, blue eyes connect with mine immediately.

Loki—of course it's Loki. Standing tall and proud, half-turned with his arms crossed, in his usual gleaming suit of black—no cape this time.

His soft, widened eyes fall suddenly to my dress, and visibly stiffen. I freeze in place, staring at him intently as his lips curl inward against each other slightly, pulling the corners of his mouth down in an expression of great restraint. I'd like to think my makeup covers the hot embarrassment that's filling my cheeks.

I sway in place awkwardly for a moment—trying just as hard as he must be, to find something to say.

"Um…" I mumble, letting out a slight chuckle as I gesture to the dress. His eyes dart up to mine. "Think you could, uh—do something about this?"

The subtle hint of an amused grin suddenly grows into a broad smile, as he bursts into laughter. "Oh I'd be happy to," he croaks, parting his arms with a wave of one hand.

A familiar flurry of rushing fabrics breaks out over my skin with a flash of light and pressure—lifts me slightly off the ground. I look down to see the ruffles gone—replaced by a sleek, form-fitted gown of a slightly deeper shade, gleaming under the bright lights of the hallway with its off-shoulder neckline, and loose sleeves tumbling along my arms. A delicate, sheer sash trails over my shoulder from the center of the cleavage, completing the elegant look.

I run my fingers over the soft fabric, squinting to see the invisible threads before dropping my hand down, and sighing heavily with relief. "Oh thank God…"

"You're welcome," he responds sarcastically.

I look back up at him, tightening my lips. "All because you're here," I mutter quietly with a nod.

A glimmer of doubt passes over his eyes as he nods in turn. "I couldn't very well leave when you're still angry at me."

"And the tesseract?" I ask.

"Someplace safe," he says, stepping toward me.

"So," I pause. "If I told you I'm not angry, you'd go?"

"No," he says tightly, holding my gaze.

Tension flickers in my chest, and I bob my head slightly. "Alright, well…." I mumble, gesturing to the door. "We should probably go inside," I raise my hands up. "How do I look?"

Loki tilts his head slightly, eyes passing over me once. "Regal."

I grin. "Regal?"

He nods, eyes softening as he peers at me at with a grin. "Like a queen," he pauses, raising a brow. "I would know."

I grin, holding every other muscle in my face frozen tightly—subduing the tide rising in my chest. I swallow hard as he steps toward me suddenly and turns—offering an arm as his eyes flicker up to meet mine. He's not smiling anymore, and actually, I really can't read his expression at all. It's neither impressed, nor threatening, nor amused in any other way. Simply calm and contemplative, like he's waiting on my acceptance or denial.

I look down at it for a moment before reaching up and under it, grasping the chill, leather sleeve as I step up to his side. "I think we're late," I sigh, looking up at his face. "I hope no one notices…"

Loki furrows a brows and nods intently. "Oh, sure," he says—before waving a hand demonstrably through the air.

My head turns sharply as the double doors suddenly swing open, revealing the mass of people standing and dancing within—who probably wouldn't have have noticed us otherwise. I turn my head slowly back up at Loki, but he simply smiles amusedly and pulls me forward gently, leading me into the hall. Guess he wanted to make an entrance.

The hall, though, is truly a sight to behold—the most beautiful room I've seen thus far. Not only do the walls and ceilings tower inordinately high, they're also carved and embellished with beautiful fixtures, murals and chandeliers, which mirror brightly against the pale, beige marble beneath our feet—creating the illusion of enormity.

More than a few faces turn toward us, some eyeing us in between the turns and spins of their dancing. I glance up at Loki—who, by the contented look on his face, seems to be enjoying the attention much more than I am.

He turns his head, gazing down at me with a handsome grin. A contagious one—as the corner of my mouth curls with it, and I pull my shoulders back pridefully, tilting my chin up toward my mischievous counterpart as we stride forward.

"Lara!" I hear a woman's voice calling my name. I turn to see the queen walking briskly toward us, along the edge of the dancing crowd—wearing what's only a slightly less atrocious version of the dress that I'd had on just moments before.

Loki leans toward me subtly. "Guess who picked your dress," he whispers, and I squeeze his arm tightly before reaching back out to her in a quick embrace.

"Oh you just look so lovely!" Valaryn beams. "Where on earth did you find this dress?"

"It's Asgardian," Loki interjects, bowing his head respectfully. "Thought we might present a bit of our own heritage, for this fine occasion."

I eye him curiously. The softness in his voice and fluidity of his movements—when he's not aggravated or bitterly bored, he has the markings of a dignified gentleman.

"Isn't that right?" he looks at me.

I widen my eyes. "Hm?"

Loki chuckles softly before looking back up at Valaryn. "Seems she's a bit distracted."

My eyes trail back toward the sound of her bright, cheery laugh among the music in the background. "Oh that's alright," she says, placing a hand endearingly on my shoulder. "Tonight is exactly for that—distractions and celebration."

I grin, lowering my chin. "That it is…" I mutter quietly.

"Well I'm glad to see you both here," she says, looking between us. "I'd heard a little something from my youngest that one of you might not come," she raises a brow at Loki.

"A minor disagreement," he grins politely. "Nothing to be concerned about."

"Good, good," she nods her head, and turns to gestures toward the tables on the far end of the room. "There's plenty of food and refreshments to go around—if you'll excuse me though, I've a quick matter to see to. Be sure to dance, now!" Valaryn grips my arm and turns, striding briskly away from us.

"Dancing," Loki mutters slowly. "Haven't done that yet, have we?"

I raise a shoulder gently, and let it drop as he leads me around the edge of the dance floor—toward the tables.

"What's wrong?" he asks, turning me slightly.

I look up at his searching expression, not quite knowing what to say. It's not like I've forgotten everything that led up to this moment, and it's not like we talked about any of it. Not with total honestly, at least.

"Nothing's wrong," I say calmly. "Just not looking forward to any speeches."

"No—stop," he pulls on my arm, stopping me in my tracks. "What is it, really?"

I peer up at him for a moment, parting my lips as the music stops abruptly on a high note. We both look back at the circle of dancers dispersing to our left, as Weylan steps into the cleared opening—clad in the fine, embellished robes of a king, and holding a golden chalice in his right hand.

"Welcome all," he smiles as the crowd dies down, and lifts both arms in a welcoming gesture, as his deep voice resonates throughout the hall.

Loki and I glance at each other once more as he shifts to my side, facing the king.

"Now that we've all gathered," he turns and grins at us demonstrably. "I'd like to personally thank each and every one of you. Not only for attending this celebration, but for each contribution that you've all made in light of recent events. I do believe that now, there is great reason for us to hope for nearing peace. And in light of that, I invite you all to continue on with us—continue on in courage, and in strength. Victory is on the horizon," he turns to us, and raises the chalice. "And of course, we are grateful to our honorable guests, who have brought it within our reach."

Nearly a hundred eyes turn and peer at us, some raising their own goblets in our direction. I grin slightly, lowering my chin respectfully as my only response.

"Tonight is for you," the king nods at us, and then the rest of the room. "For all of you!"

A wave of applause breaks out among the crowd. In the corner of my eye, I see Loki turn and peer at me for a moment. I glance around us—passing over every single face except for his—until he raises his hand in front of me.

"Will you dance with me?" he asks in a low voice.

I look back at him, and then down at his hand, as nervous tension flickers in my chest. With the multitude of eyes on us, I raise my hand reluctantly, placing it on top of his warm, callused palm. Loki's fingers curl slightly inward as he grasps it, and I inhale sharply at his first brave step onto the floor—leading me out into the center.

I look around at the line of people staring at us— slowly beginning to realize that no one else is following us onto the floor. My eyes widen as soon as I realize that the lights have dimmed slightly as well.

I exhale nervously, prompting Loki to look over at me. "Alright?"

I shake my head slightly. "Not really," I mutter quietly as we reach the center. I can't even remember the last time I was nervous to perform in front of a crowd.

Then again, I can't remember the last time that one person made me as nervous as Loki does.

His grip tightens for a moment as I step in front of him—laying my right hand on his shoulder. "Well… Perhaps I might offer a solution."

"What?" I whisper, as a soft tune slowly begins to play.

"Open your mind to me—tell me where you'd rather be."

Home. I blink, and the word appears in my mind.

Back in Los Angeles. Back in some bar with my friends, or some rooftop exhibition under the stars. I'd practically forgotten altogether that I'm an artist, that I have a life and a career somewhere far away. It all feels so out of reach now, like a glimpse of some possible life that passed me by like an image. One that I could envision, and even paint, but is otherwise overtaken and annulled by the new reality of my life.

"Close your eyes," he whispers.

I shut them briefly, furrowing a brow at the sudden freshness against my skin, and smell of fresh rain against asphalt. Darkness slowly appears beyond my eyelids, and I open them again to the sight of towering skyscrapers all around, with city lights glinting softly and casting shadows across our faces on either side—while we stand motionlessly at the top of the tallest building, in the center of a wide, black, glossy surface that mirrors us perfectly from below.

The gentle melody goes on around us as my breathing pauses, and I look back up at Loki—staring searchingly at me, lips slightly parted.

His throat bobs slightly as he grins. "You lead," he murmurs.

Wetness tinges my eyes, as I wonder whether the massive override barreling against my guarded heart is a threat.

"Just dance," he says, sensing my hesitance. "Whatever you see—I'll see it as well."

With an inward nod, I pull away—gliding my hand down his leather sleeve until it's in his hand. I step away, letting my arm flow freely about me before spinning slowly back toward him—where his hand appears at my waist, shortly after the gesture plays out in my mind.

Placing my own hand over it, I tilt my head slightly as he steps closer behind me. Feeling his breath on my cheek, I turn and meet his gaze for a moment as I curl my arm out slightly in front of me. A quick thought flickers in Loki's heavy eyes as he sees the dance in his mind, and reaches out to take the back of my hand, pulling it inward. His palm rubs gently against the back of my hand as I guide them back around, and out to the side. I step forward, holding his gaze as I stride around him in a small circle, linked only by our fingers slightly intertwined.

With the image of returning back to our starting pose, Loki pivots slowly toward me. With one brush after another, the movements grow more fluid and bold as every turn and spin films in my mind, and passes through his.

And here we are. Here, with the skirt of my dress flowing gently with every motion, in the crisp, dark vastness of the illusion. Lightness blooms in my chest with every grin and moment of closeness between us, until the music rises to its final notes, and the flash of a gentle kiss permeates my mind.

He pulls me closer in with the finishing notes, with a quick, tender brush of lips that arrive and stay pressed against mine until the end of the song. The first, real moment between us. Neither a dream, nor the illusion of one.

As the darkness dissipates beyond my closed eyes, I pull away slowly, peering up at his soft, uncertain expression for a moment. Movement suddenly captures my attention from all sides, and I look around to realize that others had filled the empty space around us—hidden aptly by Loki's illusion.

We lower our hands to our sides as the song comes to its fullest end—painfully aware of every inch of contact, and step away as we slowly begin to clap with the rest of the crowd.

When it dies down, I turn slightly to the side, glancing back up at Loki's dazed, uncertain expression once more before striding calmly off the floor—in the direction of the door, where the crowd is thinnest and easiest to pass through.

I can practically feel their eyes on me as I approach them at the edge of the room, and I look up to see some of them jumping inquisitively between myself and someone behind me—Loki, no doubt. I slow down, letting it seem intentional, and pause briefly as I step past the line of people, and my eyes lock on the wide open double doors.

They're so close… And I've been here all of, what? Fifteen minutes? The densest fifteen minutes of my life… Probably a socially appropriate amount of time to go without addressing my need for oxygen—but if it's not, I'll pretend it is.

I turn and stalk toward it—really needing just a minute to compose myself, that's all. Let the redness drain out of my cheeks, and maybe dunk my heart into a bucket of ice cold water and liquid courage. Then I can go back in and frolic among these people just a tad bit more.

My pace picks up as soon as I'm in the hallway, and my heels click loudly all the way until the second hall. I exhale sharply as soon as the glass elevator comes into view—but I'm not alone.

"Lara-" Loki says.

"I'm sorry, I just…" I turn toward him, raising a hand up as I shake my head slowly. "I just need some air."

"I know," he says in an understanding tone. I pause, watching as a faint thought passes over his softened expression. "And… I know where we can go for that."

* * *

Wow.

I didn't even know this place existed—and maybe I'm not the only one, since there's no one else up here.

The glass elevator brought us to the highest level of the tree, to a grandiose platform built amidst the topmost branches. It's high enough for pockets of mist and fog to pass both through the branches over our heads, and against the dark, gleaming surfaces around us—which stretch across a considerable length, and rise upward on the sides in two demi-circles that are lined with faint, glimmering lamps along the edges.

The rest of it is empty—dark and empty—save for one, simple bench at each of the far ends, set just before the railings. And beyond the railings—even from the center of the platform, I can see the view is breathtaking. Loki had provided me with a cloak on our way up, but it does nothing against the bone-deep chill that permeates my skin as we tread closer to the edge—heels clicking and echoing loudly against the walls.

A gentle ray of moonlight pours over my face as I lay a hand on the icy, metal railing, and a heavy breeze lifts the hair off my frontside as I lean over it—looking down at the multitude of small twinkling lights below. From this high up, they're just the tiniest sparks of life. Even the roots, and bright, glowing veins of the neighboring trees are small from here.

I grasp the metal tightly, feeling its corners press against my hand. "When did you manage to find this place?" I whisper breathlessly to Loki.

"I had time," he responds.

I tear my eyes away from the ground below, turning toward him as he strides over with his hands behind his back—heading slightly to the side, where he can see the view over my shoulder.

I lower my chin, turning to lean against the railing. "Well done," I grin.

Moments go by as we admire the scenery in silence, while the nighttime breeze continues to blow strands of hair out of our faces intermittently.

I couldn't begin to remember the last time I experienced this type of peace. Amidst the whirling madness, somehow I've managed to find a stagnant space.

Well—I didn't find it. Loki did. And then he showed me.

My hands are pale and cold as I push against the railing, standing up straight to turn back toward him, and his eyes jump to meet mine without any other movement.

"You didn't leave," I say.

His eyes sink back down to the view.

"Why didn't you?" I ask, peering at his blank expression.

Thoughts flicker across his eyes for a moment, until he finally looks up at me defeatedly. "A most unfortunate reason, really," he says in a low voice, striding over to the railing beside me, to lean against it. "It seems you've grown quite dear to me, and…" he pauses. "The idea of leaving you without protection was nauseating."

A grin tugs on the corner of my mouth as I turn, leaning against the railing along with him, and leaving just a foot of space between us. "You think I need it?"

"I suppose not," he shakes his head. "But I'm not very good at this."

"At what?" I tilt my head against the breeze.

Loki presses his lips together. "Navigating these… things."

"Yeah," I pause. "I figured that, when you called me an encumbering nuisance."

Loki blinks his eyes regretfully, before turning toward me sullenly. "I didn't mean that."

"No, you did," I nod, and a brows rises with his widened eyes. "But it's alright. If it's just who you are—words don't matter to me anyway."

Twice I've told him to leave. Twice he's had the chance to walk away—once with the stone. Whatever conflict he's been experiencing, that's spilled over into his words, doesn't matter.

Loki pauses. "What matters to you, then?" he asks in a low voice.

I look up at him, and my heart warms at his thoughtful, searching eyes—even the subtle anxiety in his expression.

"Choices, of course," I say softly, shrugging as I look away. "I have no allusions of people being perfect. From the start, this…This whole thing hasn't exactly been a fantasy. Despite that," I pause, considering my own words. "And despite the things you want, you've still made the choice to stay—again and again," I look up, smiling at the gentility washed over his face. "That's real—and it's better than fantasy."

He grins, glancing to the side. "I-" he chuckles. "I'm not sure what to say."

I laugh quietly in turn. "Don't say anything, we can just…" I pause, sliding my hand against the railing slightly as I step back. "Head back."

"Wait-" Loki reaches out suddenly, clasping his left hand heavily over mine—pinning it to the railing. He shakes his head. "I… Don't want to—not yet."

I peer at him for a moment. "Okay," I nod, practically whispering.

My eyes dart down to his hand as it wraps firmly over mine. I look back up at Loki and grin, lifting both our hands off the railing as I turn to the bench, and guide us both to it—retaining a firm grip. I lower myself down onto it, with Loki beside me, and wince as I set my other hand down to shift closer to him—feeling the icy chill of the bench that barely manages to penetrate the cloak and dress spilling out in front of me.

Leaning against him slightly, I lay my left hand over his—resting our intertwined hands between us as we look out at the view.

"I love you," he says suddenly, breaking the silence.

I could swear my vision went dark for an instant. I look up at him, at his illuminated profile staring blankly ahead into the lights below.

"I just," he blinks, turning his head slightly. "Wanted you to know."

So that's why he wanted to stay. My lip curls as Loki glances in my direction, noting the grin before meeting my eyes.

I nod lightly. "I know."

"There's something else I wanted to tell you, that I've given much thought to," he shifts toward me. "When all of this is over—it's not the stone I want."

I lower my chin, listening intently.

"I want you to come to Asgard with me," he continues. "For the time being. I've things to amend, things I thought I wanted… But it all feels different now."

"What do you mean?"

Loki parts his lips hesitantly. "I…" he pauses. "There are other things I want."

I shake my head lightly, furrowing a brow. "I don't understand…"

"I've made mistakes that I need to address, in light of what I'm asking of you," his voice sinks. "You wouldn't have a place in Asgard without me."

"Why wouldn't you have a place there?"

"It's complicated," he says. "Thor—my brother and I… We were in Svartalfheim. And with how things ended, he think I never returned."

"What?" I ask. "How is that possible? You were in Asgard when we met."

"I was, but my brother doesn't know that. As I said—I've amends to make."

"I see," I whisper quietly. "And… After that, you want me to stay in Asgard."

"You don't have to answer me now, I understand it may be daunting."

"No, I understand—you're delaying our goodbye," I smile. "When all of this is over."

Loki peers at me for a moment, before shaking his head lightly. "I don't want there to be one at all," he says with a terrible softness.

Getting damn warm under this cloak… Might just be my heart jumping into overdrive, but there isn't a single word that's coming to mind. Absolutely nothing—so I continue staring back at him for a few moments, waiting for my brain cells to start firing again.

Finally, I exhale lightly. "I'll think about it," I say breathlessly. "I mean, it's a big decision. Not like moving across cities, you know?"

"I know," he says quietly, and nods. "Whatever you decide."

I turn my head back to the view momentarily, until Loki releases my hand to shift even closer to me—wrapping one arm over me, and tilting my chin up toward him with the other.

I only catch his tranquil eyes for a moment before he leans in and presses his soft, cold lips tenderly against mine. His fingers brush my jaw as he reaches behind my neck and pulls me closer, until I'm close enough to lean my head against his shoulder—melding against him blissfully for who knows how long.


	11. Chapter 11: A Glorious Purpose

Everything seems to go back to normal in the days that follow the celebration. Save for Loki's proposal lingering in my mind: to live in Asgard, 'for the time being.' I'd begun thinking about it almost immediately—as soon as brain activity resumed normally, and I got a bit of much-needed sleep.

The days have otherwise gone by much as they did before, and Loki hasn't pressed me once for answers—which I appreciate. It's given me the time to consider things carefully: in what capacity would I devote some uncertain amount of time, to live somewhere as far and unfamiliar as Asgard? What further implications would it have on my life in Midgard? And arguably the most important question—what would I do with the stone?

These are the things I've thought about—even now, leaning against one of the wooden stands as Loki bargains with the shopkeeper, over the chain of a small necklace I'd passingly remarked was beautiful. I don't even really want to know where he obtained the money to pay for it, so instead, I simply choose to let my mind stray a bit from the scene.

"Well done," I hear Loki say friendlily to the young shopkeeper, before pivoting toward me with a long, golden chain and green pendant resting between his fingers.

I drop my gaze down from the treetops—toward him. " _Hm?_ Oh-" I reach out to take the delicate necklace from him, tilting my head with a smile. "Thank you."

The chain is just long enough to get around my head without unhooking it, and it rests lightly against my chest.

"Looks even better on the lady," the shopkeeper grins with satisfaction.

I nod graciously. "That's very kind—thank you."

"I don't think it's the necklace that looks lovely," Loki grins.

I step toward him, rising up onto the balls of my feet briefly to peck him on the cheek before continuing our stroll down the path. He turns with me, but we both halt sharply at the sound of desperate, pattering footsteps behind us—and the sound of someone calling my name.

Half the marketplace turns with us, and stares at the sight of Yerul appearing from around the corner. " _Lara—Loki,_ " he says breathlessly, sliding to a stop in front of us. "It's Olen—he's…. They brought him in to the hospital."

My eyes widen. " _Hospital!?_ " I exclaim. "What happened?"

Yerul shakes his head. "We don't know—he's not conscious, there's… There's something _wrong_ with him."

Loki and I exchange glances.

"Okay," I nod. "Let's go."

* * *

Yerul wasn't lying.

Wherever Olen's been, and whatever he's been up to, something really got under his skin—literally. In fact, the longer we stay in this room, along with the King and Queen, the harder it is to look at him. So I do it in bursts—looking toward the bed, and away from it.

Tears stream down Valaryn's cheeks as she peers down at him.

"I don't understand—what is this?" she looks back at Weylan, who turns and wraps his arms around her—still peering worriedly down at his son.

My eyes trail back toward Olen—toward the sight of his dazed eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, and blackened veins bulging from his skin.

They'd patched up the wounds before we got here, but we'd been told upon our arrival that he'd been cut to ribbons as well…

I swallow hard, and inhale sharply. " _Maybe…_ " I mumble, pausing to reconsider my thoughts. Seconds too late, as every pair of eyes in the room turns toward me sharply—like they'd been waiting for me to say something. "Maybe I can find out what happened to him."

"How?" Valaryn pleads, and the sound of her desperation reinforces me slightly.

"The god stone," I reveal it in my hand. I've had to get creative on ways to carry it, but it's always on me one way or another. "I can use it to see what happened to him."

She pauses for a moment, staring at me contemplatively, before nodding briskly and laying her head back against Weylan's shoulder.

"Do you know if he's safe to touch?" I ask.

"Yes," the King replies, shaking his head. "Whatever this is… There's barely any trace of it on the surface."

I nod. "Alright."

 _Suppose I'll have to look at him…_ My shoulders sink in dread as I step toward the bed, bending slightly to press three fingers onto his covered shoulder. With a gentle pulse of energy from the stone, a familiar sound begins to hum in my ears. I shut my eyes, letting it flow through me before opening them again. I turn my head in my weightless form, peering out into a field of floating bodies of mass—intertwined by black strings.

This is…. _The dark dimension?_ _Was Olen in the dark dimension?_

 _And what the hell was he doing here?_ The question resonates in my mind as the picture spins around me, like a tape of film responding to the movements of a steering wheel.

A chasm appears next. More specifically, a wide series of fissures encircling a raised plateau, with a single, throbbing ball of black energy—alone amidst the cornucopia of white strings.

Dread and desperation course through my veins as I peer at it. It rises in my chest—almost as strongly as if it were my own. With a burst of movement and flurries of smoke that stretch across the chasm, an army spanning as far as the eye can see appears throughout the fields.

The fields…

 _The black sand fields._

The vision ends as my fingers suddenly burn hot, and I jump away from the bed—bumping against Loki's frontside as he catches me. I hear Valaryn crying out in the corner, but my eyes are fixated on Olen—on the streams of black smoke seeping from his body.

" _What is that?_ " Loki growls.

Dull, hot nervousness stretches throughout my chest as I remember the black cloud I'd encountered in the dark dimension.

I part my lips reluctantly as I step toward it slowly. " _Seron,_ " I murmur gutturally.

He was _inside_ Olen's body? Was Seron using him to cross into this world somehow? It would make sense—he wasn't really 'here' the last time I encountered him. It was more of an echo of his form—remnants of his power that managed to percolate into this realm. Just like my ethereal body, when I travel between the realms.

A low, vibrating rumble sounds from the mass, as it explodes through the room and out the door. I take off after it into the hallway.

" _SERON_!" I scream as it barrels past the hospital staff and equipment, knocking some over. It halts abruptly—floating in place for a moment, before dissipating into thin air.

" _That was Seron!?_ " Loki exclaims.

I nod, snapping toward him. "And he's not alone—at least, he won't be for long," I stride past Loki, back into the hospital room. "Weylan-" I pause, seeing him and Valaryn at Olen's side. Valaryn sobs into his shoulder as the doctor fumbles around with his arm. _Shit._

"Is he…?"

Weylan merely glances at me briefly. I look up at Loki to my side, while he peers ahead intently—along with Yerul, slightly more shocked, standing further to his right.

"He's alive," the doctor proclaims, and a sigh of relief breaks out through the room—save for me and Loki.

" _Can someone please tell me what's happening!?_ " the Queen exclaims, looking between myself and the doctor.

"He was in the dark dimension," I mumble disappointedly, peering at his near-lifeless body. "I believe he returned to Seron—and… I suppose things didn't work out the way he'd planned," I turn my head toward Loki, addressing him—since he knew of my suspicions toward Olen. "I suppose that's where he'd gone. What he's been doing all this time."

"The dark dimension?" Weylan mutters. "How could he have ended up there?"

"I don't know," I say, shaking my head as I look back at him. "That's not all I saw, though—is there a chasm somewhere near here? A circular chasm, somewhere in the black sand fields?"

He lowers his chin. "Yes. The Grey Cliffs—why do you ask?"

"Grey Cliffs," I repeat, sighing heavily. "That mass you saw? That _was_ Seron—I've seen him once like that before, in the dark dimension. I sense desperation—he knows we're winning, and I think he used Olen's body to manifest in this world. That's why he's headed to the Grey Cliffs. I think he means to bring his army here," I pause. "Right now."

Silence permeates the space, and I exhale nervously as everyone in the room turns toward me slowly. My voice drops low. "And we better be ready when he does."

* * *

" _That incomparable dullard_ ," Loki scowls as he straightens his armor in the neighboring section of the armory—which is dark and considerably stale, having been built underneath the tree. "Can't say he didn't have it coming, really."

"I don't disagree," I mumble nervously from another section of the room, otherwise quietly assembling the armor that'd been given to me.

For a moment, I look up into the mirror and peer at the dark, navy colored suit, noting the silver embellishments that stretch across the front—which are vaguely reminiscent of the silver stiles from the throne room. A symbol of the crown, maybe? It reminds me more of the god stone's strings.

The fabric is sturdy and flexible, but not enough to conceal the feeling of my heart beating wildly as I clamp more armor over my chest. I assume this particular piece was made especially for me, since the suit only extends down my left arm—while the other is clad in additional cuffs, bearing the same intricate metal design that can be found across my pauldrons and knee caps.

Loki's fumbling suddenly pauses. "Are you alright back there?"

I shake my head silently. "Yeah—I'm fine," I lie, locking the final pauldron in place. A long, grey cape tumbles down from it, down the left side of my back, as I step out from around the corner—briefly noticing the green accents on Loki's otherwise black and silver armor, which crosses over itself down the length of his torso. The only similarity between us is the design on his metal pauldrons—even his cloak is a deep green shade.

I glance at a pair of long, silver daggers hanging on the wall behind him as I approach. "It's just," I murmur doubtfully, as anxiety buzzes in my chest. "I don't know if I can do this…"

"What do you mean?" he asks flatly—as though he already knows the answer, but still wants to hear my thoughts.

I pause for a moment, scoffing as I gesture at the armor. "I'm an _artist,_ " I croak, feeling a sudden wetness tinge my eyes. It's a sharp realization—that the weight of my conviction is meaningless, that this new reality has decided another fate for me. "At least I _was_ ," I add, turning away from his solemn expression to lean against a crate.

"I'd say you've managed to hold your own in a fight," he says, stepping toward me.

I shake my head. "That was different. You didn't see the vision—it's _war_ out there," I gesture toward the walls. "And we're about to march right into it, today _,_ and I—I haven't even had the time to _process_ all of this… Even if I survive," I pause, holding Loki's sullen gaze. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do afterwards. With the stone. I can't just leave it here."

"That's part of the reason I wanted you to come back to Asgard. We could keep it safe there—together. You'll protect the stone," he says softly. "And I'll protect you."

Warmth swells in my chest as I peer up at him doubtfully. "But then everyone will know that it exists," I say quietly. "There are good reasons for it to have stayed hidden."

Loki looks away darkly, pivoting slightly against the stone floor. I tilt my head suspiciously. "What?"

"There's only one thing that worries me on that note—one being," he says.

"Who?" I ask impatiently.

"Thanos," Loki looks back at me—and coldness settles in my chest at the as the hint of some dark memory dances across his eyes. "He's the one that sent me to Earth, furnished me with an army—he'd organized the initiative, and burdened me with it."

I pause. "Not just you…" I mumble, and shake my head briskly. "But that's not what this is about—who is this person?"

"He's not a person," Loki continues. "He's a titan—the Mad Titan. He's sought after the infinity stones for the longest time. I don't know many he's managed to obtain."

I lower my gaze, considering the implication—that the end is further from sight than I thought it was. All this time, we've been putting out this fire, while another's been growing in the far distance.

"But he doesn't know about the god stone?" I ask, looking back up at him.

"I don't think so," Loki shakes his head, and his voice drops to a quiet tone. "I suppose bringing it to Asgard may not serve the purpose of concealing it, but… we'll find a way," he steps toward me. "You can't possibly be thinking of staying here?"

I sigh, letting my head roll downward to my hands. "No, I'm not."

He pauses. "Well… Tell me what you are thinking, then."

I look up at him, and shake my head slowly. "Nothing we haven't already discussed."

Loki grins. "I believe we've been through this before—I'm sure you have something interesting to say."

I pause for a moment, looking down at my lap as I run one thumb over the other.

"I understand the seriousness of what's happening," I pause. "And that it matters in ways beyond the scope of me and my life, but… the only thing I keep thinking about right now is how different I thought it would be," I shrug, raising my eyes slightly. "I thought someday, that I'd have kids, that I'd grow old with someone. Maybe buy a house somewhere in the mountains and go there during the winter… And I've just deviated so far from that, about as far as anyone could imagine—more probably, I don't know who could ever conceive of this," I gesture around us. "As being in the realm of possibilities."

"And I just don't understand," I shake my head. "I had a good life. And with everything that's happened—I barely even feel human anymore. I've _killed_ people. And I don't understand why-" I pause, wincing at my own selfish thoughts. "Why it had to be me."

Loki presses his lips together thoughtfully, and tilts his head. I look down at the stone floors, seeing him approach me from the corner of my eye, and sigh as he lowers himself down beside me on the crate—the exceptionally sturdy crate.

"The last time I asked myself such questions, I chose to let the answers destroy my life," he says quietly, and I look up at him—remembering my own words to him in the hospital. Loki nods in my direction. "As you said."

"And while you may feel chosen for this… ' _Glorious purpose_ ,'" he grins. "You're the one that's been given a choice. And whatever you decide, I will adhere to it. We can take the tesseract now, and leave. I've no qualms with that. But I've known the other side of that decision, and I wouldn't choose to navigate anyone toward such regret—much less the woman I love."

A glimmer of relief twinges in my chest, and I smile warmly at him. "You regret what you did?"

He blinks, and nods his head solemnly. "I do," he says, glancing at the wall behind me thoughtfully for a moment. "When I think about the fact that you might've been there, in New York, and not outside the city... I realize that it was sheer chance that secured your life—our meeting. And when I consider the idea of someone hurting you, as I would have that day," his throat bobs. "I begin to feel the rage once more."

Tension ripples through his jaw, as his gaze drops to the ground.

"Well," I murmur quietly. "It's not like I would go and attack New York."

A faint chuckle relieves the tightness in his eyes. "No—but you would be leaving many to die in your absence."

I pause, exhaling lightly through my nostrils. "And if we stay—you think we can save them all?"

Loki nods. "Well I truly believe that you can end this. You were made for it, after all. But apart from that," he leans toward me. "I also know you—and I _adore_ the fire that makes you who you are. If you fight, there's no doubt in my mind that you will win."

I look down at his hands resting intertwined between his knees, and reach toward them with my own cold hand. I grin for a moment, holding his proud, resolute gaze, as the warmth of his palm encloses my fingers.

He believes that enough to stay. Believes in me—enough to follow and accept me through whatever decision I make. Any reasoning of whether it's founded or unfounded makes no difference to me—in this desolate situation, his love and belief has made room for the courage I needed to simply try.

"I love you," I whisper.

A subtle grin flickers in the corner of his mouth as he tightens his grip. "I know," he says in a deep tone.

I glance at the door—which we'd left slightly open across the room. "They're probably wondering where we are."

After a moment, he nods. "Rightly so—we've got quite the road ahead of us."

"Weylan said it's only a day's ride from here," I say, looking back at him.

"He did," Loki pauses, rolling his eyes downward—and his voice suddenly rises with amusement. "But you fail to realize how heavy those boots are going to be on top of one of those _creatures_ ," he says, gesturing to the outrageously large greaves covering my grey boots. "If you think I'll help carry you if yours gives out, you're severely mistaken."

I look down at the boots and laugh, as Loki bends down to unclip them from my shins. "You foiled my plans!"

"I doubt you'd be needing these anyway," he says, absently tossing the greaves aside and squeezing the boots between his fingers. "These are rather substantial. Any more, and the weight will slow you down."

"Well if you're not concerned, then I won't be either," I grin and stand, as Loki follows suit.

I watch as he turns and picks some knives off the wall, and pivot suddenly toward the two long, silver daggers hanging behind me. Can't walk into a fight without a weapon, after all.

"Right," I say, unhooking them from the heavy, metal chains. "I almost forgot."

Loki waits as I slip them into my boots, scanning the length of me as I straighten back up. "Not sure I'll have much use for them," I say. "But good to have them, I think."

A grin tugs on the corner of his mouth, as his contemplative eyes jump around the corners of my face. "One last thing…" he says.

"What is it?"

I watch as he raises a hand, turning it slowly in the air—producing a silver band with bright, blue jewels in the center, and a pair of horns twisting up and over it. "Let's add a bit of Asgard to that armor, shall we?" he says, approaching me slowly.

I peer down at it for a moment, remembering the golden horns I'd seen in my vision of him. "Think it's more 'you' than Asgard, isn't it?"

"Perhaps," he says tonelessly, fitting it against my forehead. I move my head side to side once it's on—the movement is easy, and it's much lighter than I thought it'd be.

I look up at Loki, and smirk inwardly at the contentment sprawled across his expression. "Where's yours?" I ask.

"Right here," he says matter-of-factly, waving his hand once more. Another, golden band appears in his hand, and I notice immediately that it's not the same pair of horns I'd seen in my vision—it's not much of a helmet at all. Apart from that, it's just like mine. A pair of matching crowns, almost—matching tiaras.

I chuckle lightly at the thought. "Well, all we're missing is a pair of matching friendship bracelets."

Loki pauses—crinkling a brow. " _Beg pardon?_ " he says sarcastically.

The reaction sparks a laugh—for the first time in a while—and I shrug flirtatiously. "Pardonnez-moi," I say, knowing he probably won't fully understand the French expression. Still smiling, Loki narrows his eyes as I turn to walk toward the door.

" _Je te pardonne,_ " he says with a perfect accent, as his boots pick up behind me. My lips part surprisedly as I stop, letting him pass by with a satisfied expression. He turns, striding backward toward the door while facing me, with his hands spread in front of him. "You didn't _really_ think English was the only Midgardian language I deigned to learn, did you?"

I grin slightly. "Apparently not."

Loki turns back to the door, and in the last seconds of his pivot, I see his smile fade. My shoulders sink as I begin stalking toward it as well, realizing that this silly conversation was intentional—he was probably trying to cheer me up. And now I wonder whether he feels the same fear I do—creeping slowly back up with every step I take away from these past few moments of safety.

* * *

I hadn't expected our army to be so formidable—not after the attack that devastated us a few weeks ago. There wasn't much of an immediate response back then, so I had no inkling of the hidden force behind our walls. It was remarkable to watch the soldiers march out from further inland, and even more so to watch them meld into a massive force across the black sand fields.

Some are walking, while others are riding—atop the ' _creatures'_ that Loki had mentioned. One of which has very successfully been carrying me since the outskirts of the city, and likely will have done so with or without my greaves. The thing itself is vaguely reminiscent of a horse—except that horses don't have metal bodies, glowing eyes, and mechanical footrests that control its speed and hidden artillery.

It doesn't seem to tire, even as we approach the mountains where I found the stone—in the second half of the day. The Grey Cliffs are just beyond them, and the mountains themselves are hardly an easy obstacle for us to snake through—with the King, Yerul, Loki and myself at the front of the narrow lines. After another two or three more hours, a series of large, grey cliffs finally begin to appear just beyond the dark walls of the last two peaks.

Weylan stops—halting the soldiers behind him as he turns toward me.

I glance him and nod knowingly, before riding ahead silently to look—creeping stealthily up to the edge of the cliff, under the light of the setting sun. There are spaceships overhead as well—hidden by a cloaking mechanism—and I wonder whether they see the army of disfigured, humanoid creatures stretching far across the distance. Even from up here, I can see their talons and thin, grey skin that ripples against every muscle and vein.

Terror slowly weighs on every inch of my body, even more so as my eyes trail slowly up to the sky. Color drains completely from my face at the sight of multitudes of twisting black masses—folding and turning over themselves around Seron's fleet.

Loki rides up beside me quietly, peering down at the army over the edge, before following my eyes up to the sky.

"What is it?" he asks. "What's up there?"

"Seron didn't just bring an army," I mutter quietly through narrowed lips. "He brought creatures from the dark dimension."

[to be continued]


	12. Chapter 12: Child of Infinity

Unbelievable—this is unbelievable. It takes a moment for me to full absorb what's in front of me: the fleet, the army, and the vast array of creatures snaking through the skies overhead. I shake my head lightly as my eyes drop down to my white knuckles, gripping the pale, blue reigns in my hands—trying to gain some sense of immediate realness, in this otherwise surreal environment.

"Lara?" I hear Loki's voice beside me, and I look over to him with lips slightly parted—tasting the cold, evening air as it adds to the chill creeping throughout my body. "Are you alright?"

I nod slightly—pausing—and then shake my head. Loki's lips thin into a straight line as he glances back at the King for a moment, before riding a bit closer to me. "The tesseract—I have it," he says in a low voice, peering at me intently. "We can still turn back."

My eyes trail down to his chest for a moment, and then back up at the sky—at the creatures. "It wouldn't make a difference," I murmur quietly to him, shaking my head. "None of this will end if we run… And then more people are going to-"

With a sudden flash, a beam of energy barrels across the crevice and strikes my horse in the face. It bucks its front legs up—throwing me off its back. I land on the ground with a heavy thump, but the padded plates stretching around my ribcage take most of the impact. A roar erupts from over the cliff as Loki turns abruptly toward me—lowering a hand down for me to take, while our forces ride out along the edge of the cliff with a low, steady rumble through the earth.

His grip is hard around my hand, and he pulls me effortlessly up into the air, while I grab ahold of his shoulders—scratching the leather slightly with my fingernails—and let him haul me onto the back of his horse. With the wind blowing against my face, I look out to the army as he rides out along the curved edge of the crevice, with the rest of our soldiers.

Black strings slowly come into focus around the invaders. I loosen my grip over Loki's shoulders, feeling the usual pressure glide over my palm—with the exception of the creatures overhead, which produce a small vibration each time one of them gets close. All the while, the stone continues to hum with energy from deep inside my boot. Not the most comfortable location to have tucked it away, but this armor allowed me little else.

I look over to the other side, seeing how our armies have collided—a cataclysm of black and white strings twisting, turning, and fading away from bodies strewing across the grounds. Beams of light and bodies of smoke fly about through the air, and as Loki gets close, I lift my hand slowly. The black strings shudder as power from the god stone flows against my skin, invigorating my grip over the more elusive threads.

With a jerk of my hand, a group of invaders fly backward, away from us. I smile, but hardly have a moment to breathe before another beam blows past us from behind—striking Loki's horse in the legs. It collapses underneath us with a pained cry, while Loki and I are thrown across the ground—rolling slightly against the dirt.

Metal clangs and shots of light go on around us, and dirt gathers under my fingernails as I ball my hands into fists—lifting myself up slowly by my forearms. A cloud of dust erupts under me as I exhale sharply, trying to re-gain my focus, and see if anything in my body hurts more than it should.

Legs are working… Arms are intact… I have a headache, but that's a problem to be dealt with later. I bite my lip slightly as I push off from the ground, forcing my legs to lift me up. I turn, seeing Loki rise up to his knees behind me, and pivot sharply with a dagger in hand—stopping a sword from impaling him from behind.

A screech sounds behind me, and I pull the knives sheathed at my sides—turning and dodging a long blade striking down at me from above. It lands deep in the soil, and I glance at it for a moment, realizing that I'm outmatched in strength—physical strength, at least.

The invader screeches as I raise both hands at my side—feeling the pressure against my palms, and harden the black strings around us. With a sudden gasp, he freezes—giving me the chance to lunge forward and run my blade clean across his throat. I catch a glimpse of blue liquid tinting the edges of my blade as I continue onward—taking one down at a time.

I feel my body tire after a while, and my focus blurs along with it—rendering my grip weaker and weaker over the invaders around me. I bend over for a moment, gasping—aching for a clean breath of air—until a mass of twisting smoke blows past me from above, knocking me back several feet. Some of the invaders fall back with me, and with a pull of white threads, I rise up immediately from the pile of bodies—trying to distance myself from them.

"Agh-" I hear Loki's voice to my side.

I pivot sharply toward him, boots scratching against the gravel. Fear tightens around my chest at the sight of a deep gash in his shoulder, and one of the creatures of the dark dimension of the flying up—away from him.

Loki drops his knife, turning his head confusedly—searching for his attacker before turning and meeting my gaze for a moment.

And the moment he does, the realization dawns on me—that we stayed to save this world, but defeating the half of Seron's forces that are here on the ground will make no difference for the half that no one can even see. Except me.

And even if they could see the creatures, as I do—even if they found a way to fight back against them—where would that leave Seron?

Absorbing Seron's armies, along with the life force from his body, was a feat that the bearer could not withstand… Time slows for a moment, and my shoulders sink at Olen's words floating across my memory.

Confusion drains slowly from Loki's face as he peers at me—sensing the change. His expression hardens, as though he's wondering whether I'm about to do something stupid.

Well… He may be right, and he may not.

I look away, shutting my eyes tightly for a moment, and open them again as I look back up at the Grey Cliffs overhead—at the base of the mountains, on the other side of the chasm. I swallow hard, trying to subdue the white-hot fear rising up through my chest, and into my throat. Strings wrap around my hands and legs, pulling me from the ground, and up into the air—toward the cliff's edge.

Midway across the chasm, a black cloud wraps around my body—tugging me to the left and right. I fight with it, trying to control the energy around me as it struggles with me midair.

Seron—I know it's him, because he's different from anything and anyone else here.

"Lara!" I hear Loki's faint voice calling out to me, somewhere from the side.

With a sudden tug at my right leg—where the god stone is hidden inside my boot—I cave my body inward, wrapping myself up into a ball for a moment, before forcing the power outward. The strings, and even the very air around me dissipates for a moment. All remnants of existence, pushing outward until I'm alone in the air once more.

My vision spins for a moment, but my consciousness remains—and I use what's left of my coherent thoughts to will myself back to the mountain's edge of the Grey Cliffs. I land with a slide on my right knee, and my eyes trail up the length of the dark mountain stretching up into the night. With a sharp turn, I look up into the sky, where the creatures are hardly discernible against the darkness—though Seron still is, as he spreads toward me in thin slits of pitch-black mass.

It has to end here. It just has to.

My eyes drop down to my right boot as I reach for it, sliding my hand down the side. I grasp the stone between my fingers and pull it back out, feeling its power throb in my palm. I look between the stone and the army for a moment—fear tugging at my chest.

"Lara!" I hear my name again, and my eyes dart sharply to the left—toward the sight and sound of Loki coming up along the edge of the dark cliff.

I turn my head back to Seron, taking short, shallow breaths—knowing what's about to happen here between us on this cliff. And if Loki is caught in the middle of it, who knows what will happen to him?

Thoughts and impulses flash in the brief instances I have to consider them, and among them all is one prevailing truth—that the answers are here, in my hand.

I look down at the stone, squeezing it tightly in my hand. The reason I'm here, the reason I was brought to this world. The answer to all our questions, and the missing piece of the puzzle. The missing half of my existence—my creator.

The moment the thought runs through my mind, the stone hums in my hand, releasing a pulse of consciousness that courses through my body. And I feel it—an acknowledgement, a proclamation of its acceptance of me as well.

In a moment of solemnity, I raise it to my chest—loosening my grip. The stone slides slowly against my fingers, pulling toward me with its own magnetic will. I gasp sharply as it suddenly bolts against my chest, growing hot as it slowly melts into my skin—bonding with me, as the shard had done.

Power invigorates every muscle in my body as I peer up at Seron, feeling my will combine with the stone's, like an unspoken language between two souls that are in sheer agreement—that it's time for this to end.

The shard vibrates violently in my hand as I throw it up before me, and glints brightly from inside my palm. Pressure weighs heavily over every inch of my body, while every last fibrous thread—both black and white—becomes acutely visible to my eyes, even in the far distance. I feel it—the god stone's power, glowing as it flows through my veins, and stretches up into my hand. Together we reach, summoning every last thread of unwelcome life in this world.

Despite their darkness in color, the strings of every last invader rise up and course through the night sky in hot, blue surges of energy. Wind blows back my hair as a bellowing sound erupts from Seron's mass, but it's too late—his life is forfeit to the stone. Bodies drop along the battlefield, and my eyes follow he streams of light spiraling above me, descending slowly.

I hear a noise to my left—the sound of boots sliding to a stop—and I look over briskly, meeting Loki's desperate eyes for a moment. With the sound of wind blowing against my ears, I don't even hear the streams as they combine with Seron's mass, and burst into my body through my arm first—then from all sides.

My bones catch fire. Every inch of my skin feels as though it's being stretched far beyond its capacity, while pressure compresses my organs to what feels like the width of a marble.

It's unlike any pain I've ever felt, and I scream out in agony—barely finding room for the sweet distraction of a wishful thought, to end it all.

But it doesn't end, not for several minutes. And the pain continuous relentlessly until every last drop of energy has been absorbed.

In the moment that the pain finally passes, silence hardens around us. I sway for a moment, feeling weakness spread through every limb—inch by inch, forcing my body to the ground.

* * *

Sensations feel random, spread in bits and pieces all over the place. I lift myself slowly from the ground, feeling the pain dissipate completely as I face the mountain. I can't taste the air anymore, or feel its coldness against me.

"No," I hear a voice behind me, and turn toward a familiar sight.

Myself.

Loki drops to my side, and the metal horns fall from my forehead as he lifts my body slowly off the dirt, cradling my face against his shoulder as he searches desperately for a pulse in my neck.

Horror flashes in his eyes after a moment. "No—no," he gasps. "Don't be dead," he growls. "Don't you dare be dead-" he cradles my face in his palm, glaring at my closed eyes intently as he presses his forehead against mine. "Don't you dare…"

I can't watch this—but I can't look away either. Sorrow resonates throughout me, but I can only stand and listen to him plead to me as though I'm there, in his embrace, and not out here.

A white light glimmers under my armor, catching my attention first. As soon as it's bright enough to be seen from below, Loki pulls away as well—eyes glinting slightly with wetness. The light streams outward from my chest, filling every vein in my body, until the entirety of my skin is glowing ambiently.

I scan the length of my own body slowly, back up to my face. I peer down at it intently for a moment—until my eyes begin to open slowly, revealing a pair of bright, glowing irises within. Confusion replaces sorrow in Loki's expression as they turn slightly toward him—staring blankly at him for a moment, before trailing over to me.

The body's hands rise up—turning slightly as strings entangle themselves effortlessly in its fingers. My lips part slightly as I stand and watch motionlessly, as they pull the body upward gently—gracefully—onto its feet. It strains for a moment to remain standing, but then turns slowly in my direction.

"You see me?" I whisper quietly.

"Yes," it speaks—pairing my voice with dual chords of a higher and lower tone.

"What?" Loki whispers, and my body glances in his direction for a moment, ignoring him as it looks back up at me.

And this moment—it's something else. I've looked at my own amber eyes so many times before. Crinkled my nose. Run my hands through my hair. This isn't even in the realm of anything familiar—this is like looking in the mirror, and seeing someone else's soul reflected in your eyes.

I exhale lightly—even though it isn't air that I feel passing through my lips. "You're—you're the god stone," I pause. "Aren't you?"

"I am," it nods.

Loki's eyes dart from side to side—between my body, and the space before it. "Who—Lara?" he murmurs breathlessly.

The god stone turns its head slightly in his direction. "Lara is here," it says to him. "Though she's not long for this world."

"Not long?" his voice drops low as he furrows a brow, lifting himself up slowly from the ground. "What does that mean—who are you!?"

"I am the god stone," it announces matter-of-factly. "And you—Odinson—have sent many souls to my true realm," it tilts its head. "Hers will be at peace with theirs—with all but yours, which will continue to linger."

"True realm?" I mumble quietly.

"Yes," it turns its head toward me. "There are many worlds, and our power holds dominion over all living things within them. As you have come to know," it nods. "Since you accepted me."

"Are you… Are you speaking to Lara?" Loki asks weakly as he steps toward it. The god stone lowers its chin slightly—still peering at me—and sadness grips my chest as I watch him look searchingly about the space surrounding me. Barely looking in the right direction—where I'm standing.

"So, I'm… I'm dead," I whisper… I hadn't felt the life leave me fully until now—after saying the words.

My lip trembles as I peer at Loki. When the god stone doesn't respond, I look back up at it. "But… My body—how are you using it?"

"You are my bearer," it responds. "And you will escort me to the next realm, where none in search can ever find me."

"'None in search?'" Loki steps toward it, speaking eagerly—as though searching for a solution to some problem that he doesn't fully understand. "Who do you mean—Thanos?"

"The Mad Titan," it responds, turning its head toward him. "I feel him—even now. It won't be long before the others have gathered. We must leave before that time comes, and he must never know of my existence."

"Well can't you kill him, as you did this army?" Loki gestures aggressively to the pitch-black fields. I look over to them, seeing small movements under the starlight.

The stone looks back at me, "She could not bear me in this state, nor could any other being wield my power. That is the sacrifice I made—the contract with this universe," it nods. "When I created you."

I look up—meeting its luminous gaze.

"You can't save me?" I whisper.

The god stone shakes its head. "You have died, Lara," it says. A heavy darkness clouds Loki's expression as his lips part slowly, and he steps back—leaning against a rock. "Your body is one with mine, and I will take you where your life may continue."

Sorrow echoes throughout my ethereal form, and I look over at Loki—still peering at the god stone disbelievingly.

"She's…" he pauses. "She's dead?"

It nods, and a different type of coldness settles in the air between us—one that even I can feel. Shock pulls my heart further down into my ethereal chest, and I couldn't begin to know what to say—or do—next, so I drop my eyes down to the ground, finding it hard to believe I'd stood here many moments ago, alive, and thinking I would stay that way.

"It's time to go, Lara," the god stone's voice breaks the silence. My eyes dart up to it, and over to Loki.

My heart begins to tug in another direction—toward him. The thought of leaving him behind, alone, to grieve… I don't know whose pain could possibly be worse.

"Can…" I pause, inhaling lightly. "Can I say goodbye? In my body? Can you help me do that, at least?"

The god stone tightens its brows contemplatively for a moment, before lowering its chin solemnly. "This body will remain mangled, so long as it is in this realm," it says, shaking its head slightly. "Returning to it, for even a brief time, will be excruciating."

"I can't leave without saying goodbye," my voice trembles as I step toward Loki. "I need to talk to him, one more time. I don't care how painful it'll be."

"Very well," I hear it say as I look back at it, seeing an expression I hadn't expected—pity. "For all that you have suffered, you are a child of infinity—my child. And I will grant you this favor."

The god stone turns toward Loki, facing him, while I step closer to him as well. Sorrow lingers over his expression as he stands, peering at my body searchingly—looking for signs of me. I step into the god stone's path as it walks toward him slowly, feeling my form bonding with it once more, as it steps into me from behind.

The pain erupts immediately, over every inch of my body. I gasp sharply, and my legs collapse underneath me as Loki lunges forward—catching me before I hit the ground.

"It's alright," he whispers, wrapping an arm around my backside, and squeezing my shoulder tightly. "It's alright…"

Warmth pours into my shoulder from his hand, spreading slowly throughout the rest of me—masking the pain. I exhale lightly with relief at first, until the lack of pain makes way for different, more unpleasant sensations. With a frustrated gasp, I lean my head against him—tightening my eyes as I try to manage every minute feeling of my broken body.

"You're alright now," he says. "Aren't you?"

I shake my head, feeling my eyes grow wet. "No—it… it doesn't feel right," I croak, trying to remove my attention from the feeling of scraping bones and torn muscles throughout my limbs.

"No—no, it will be fine," he mutters, holding me tightly from underneath, and keeping my face tilted toward him with his hand. "Whatever it is, we'll fix it—we can heal you-"

"We can't," I murmur. "You heard what it said—it wouldn't let me stay, even if I could…"

"Damn the thing, and whatever it wants," his face contorts with an irate scowl above me. "You're not going anywhere."

"No," I shake my head. "No—it's okay, I understand… It wouldn't be right, because this is more important," I pause, catching a breath. "Than either of us—we've known that from the start."

Loki's lips thin angrily into a straight line as he glares down at me, and a gentle wetness tinges his eyes.

"It's alright," I say. "I just wanted you to know… That wherever I go—I'll still be with you."

"What—even if I can't see you?" he retorts angrily. I peer up at him sadly, watching as pain seeps into the corners of his hardened face, which trembles further as he tightens it into a blank expression. All the while, a thin stream of tears lines the bottom of his eyes.

I lift a hand weakly to the base of his damp neck, between the strands of his coarse, dark hair, while the corners of my mouth relax into a gentle grin. "Yeah," I breathe out.

"And that's supposed to be enough?" he chokes, and tension flickers over the edges of his brows as he shakes his head. "You underestimate my ability to cope."

I smile, even as I feel the life leaving me. Even more, I feel the power of the god stone humming inside my chest, dissolving my existence in this world—moving outward from my core, and sending me somewhere else. I shut my eyes for a moment, barely having the strength to grin. Nevermind cry.

You will see him again.

My eyes burst open as I hear the stone's voice inside my head. I glance past the edges of Loki's face—up at the stars glinting overhead. I watch them for a moment, contemplating the voice.

Not too soon, I hope… I respond in my mind, and look back down to meet his gaze. My breathing slows as I grin up at him.

"I..lo-" my voice trails off with a final breath, and I barely mouth the rest of the words. My eyes begin to shut, and I weigh heavily against Loki's embrace as I feel his hand slide around my neck, gripping it tightly.

"No," I hear his voice break one last time, as light pours over my body in the final moments of the god stone's power—spiriting my life away.

[to be continued]


	13. Chapter 13: Silence

The days transpire slowly after Lara's death, wherein the entirety of Loki's patience is tested—again and again. Consumed by grief, he remains perched on her bed for the majority of the time, turning away all offers for food and conversation—even from the King. He opts for solitude instead, absorbing the empty quietness as he turns the tesseract about in his hands, and peers out into the twinkling lights beyond the glass.

A quiet knock comes on the third evening—the one that he's been waiting for—summoning him to the ground below.

It's the first time he's ever heard such silence throughout the metropolis, save for hollow instruments playing a gentle hymn. White lamps illuminate the walls of the emptied shops, but do nothing for the chill breeze cooling their faces.

Even when someone speaks, Loki hardly hears it as he stalks forward, leading members of the royal family—along with others who might follow—toward the courtyard where Lara had danced.

The site of her funeral.

A faint impulse tugs on the side of Loki's awareness, and he peers darkly into the crowd—meeting a pair of familiar eyes. The King's eldest son lowers his sickly gaze to the ground as Loki passes, and the Odinson rolls his eyes back up to the path ahead—this night is in Lara's honor, and no one else's. No one else will have his attention.

The courtyard opens before them, and Loki swallows hard at the sight of a stone coffin standing in the middle—with Lara's slender form carved elegantly into the top. While the family stays behind, at the edge of the crowd, Loki strides toward it in the center of the circle. The instruments continue to play, but he hardly hears them as he peers down at the stone eyes—waiting on the Great Lament to ensue.

After a moment, it begins. And all throughout the stretches of the metropolis, people bow their heads in silence—while every light in sight begins to dim, until the entirety of the region is consumed by the quiet night. Loki blinks, looking around him—even the blue and red veins within the trees are dimmed to blackness.

A cool, steady wind lifts his cape up slightly—filling the cold and empty space surrounding him on all sides. In a silent heartbeat, pale, white lights suddenly emerge, rising slowly along the crevices of every tree—leaving the ground in a pale, ambient light.

His vision fills with the sight of the glinting lights, and grief tightens in his chest as he admires it, knowing how beautiful she would have found it all as well. His eyes trail back downward to meet her gaze one last time—as she across from him, on the other side of the coffin. An illusion—only for his eyes—staring back at him silently for a moment, before disappearing into the night.

[to be continued]


	14. Chapter 14: The True Realm

Standing in the midst of the chaos and carnage that devastated the Asgardian race, the Mad Titan watches as the God of Mischief and Deceit steps forward.

"Almighty Thanos—I, Loki, Prince of Asgard," he strides forward, pausing as he casts a meaningful glance to his brother—the God of Thunder—who watches from aside, bound in silence by the chains restraining him. "Odinson," he continues, summoning a dagger secretly to his left hand. "The rightful King of Jotunheim. God of Mischief—do hereby pledge to you, my undying fidelity."

The Mad Titan watches as the prince casts his eyes to the ground, pooling at the rims—before lunging forward at his neck, blade in hand. Thanos throws his arm up, wielding the power of the space stone to halt the prince's movement mid-air.

 _"Undying?_ " he says in a low voice, taking the prince's forearm. "You should choose your words more carefully."

The dagger falls to the ground as Thanos pulls him forward, grasping Loki's neck with the Infinity Gauntlet—lifting him slowly into the air, grinning at his struggle.

" _You…_ " Loki chokes. " _Will never be… A god._ "

Thanos tilts his head bemusedly, and tightens his grip around the Odinson's neck. With a quiet snap, his vision goes dark.

*

Wind blows gently along the side of Loki's face, as he lays motionlessly on the ground. Consciousness revives him slowly, as his fingers flinch lightly against the blades of grass. His eyes open slowly as sensation returns to the rest of his limbs, and he shifts onto his side.

The ground is soft beneath his face, and his body feels heavy. He lifts himself slowly, propping up against his forearm as his blurred vision regains its focus on the fields stretching out for miles before him. He squints as light pours quickly into his eyes, and rolls them back downward to the ground, rubbing them slightly. A fresh, mountain breeze flows over him from behind, and he turns slightly—shifting to his other side. A tall, slender figure appears in sight, facing away from him at the end of a far ledge that overlooks a scenery of mountainous hills and rivers.

His chest tightens with familiarity at the sight of the landscape—as well as the woman, with her light, wavy hair tumbling past her shoulders. He watches for a moment, observing her carefully as she towers proudly before the view—clad in black-and-cobalt robes that trail gently over the curves of her figure, enhancing her presence to that of a queen.

Meanwhile, the woman peers down at the small, golden circlet in her hands—running her fingers over the the six empty slots lining its edges. It's hardly large enough to be worn, but that's not an issue—she didn't craft it to be worn, and the fate of the six missing stones is still uncertain. As is her involvement with their fate.

The woman sighs, taking the circlet in her right hand, and bending her wrist downward. A faint light glimmers from within her palm as the circlet rolls down her hand, and disappears with a brush of air against her hand.

She blinks, sensing the familiar presence approaching closely from behind. and turns toward the figure nearing her. Tall and slender, he approaches quietly, wearing a black suit and green cape that tumbles over his backside. Tense, widened eyes peer back in shock as he comes to a stop just two feet away, and stares rigidly at her—even as her expression relaxes with a soft grin.

His lips part reluctantly, and shut again as uncertainty pours over his expression—unsure of whether or not he's recognizing the right person.

Lara smiles, lifting a hand up before her. His gaze drops down to it for a moment, and he glances back up to meet her eyes with a raised brow. Slowly, he lifts his hand up and slides it over her warm palm.

She squeezes it gently, "It's good to see you, Loki."

[The End]


End file.
